


The Halo Effect

by Curator



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: F/M, Friends to Lovers, Justin issues, Mosaic is the only beta canon here, Post-Endgame, honor for B’Elanna, playing with tropes like silly putty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-07-27 05:29:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 15
Words: 24,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20040691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Curator/pseuds/Curator
Summary: Tom Paris and Kathryn Janeway didn’t intend to fall in love.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [missparker](https://archiveofourown.org/users/missparker/gifts).

> For missparker, whose J/P fics inspired me to ship the heck out of these two. I’ve worked to differentiate my story from hers, but certain things are just life: toddlers misbehave, bed-hop, and — once they start to talk — there’s no stopping them. Also, Tom Paris needs a job and there are only so many things he can do.
> 
> Immense gratitude to Klugtiger for her beta skills, her thoughtfulness, and her infectious love for Miral Paris.

With any other chief engineer, the _Bouman_ would have been lost with all hands. 

As it was, Lieutenant Commander B’Elanna Torres bought those aboard just enough time to escape before the warp core breached.

Tom Paris was in their assigned escape pod, Miral in his arms, when B’Elanna commed him. Stars streaked past the pod’s viewports and the weight of their four-month-old daughter was heavy on Tom’s chest. Through the connection, he heard B’Elanna’s fingers tapping furiously against a console as the ship’s computer counted down to containment failure. 

The seven other people in the pod were silent. 

“This is it, Flyboy,” B’Elanna’s voice was tinny through Tom’s commbadge. “I love you. Kiss our baby girl. Keep going.” 

Tom couldn’t hear the explosion, but he saw it — big and bright and blinding. Then, physics caught up and the escape pod slammed to its side. 

***

Admiral Kathryn Janeway slid her fingers under the turtleneck of her uniform. The crick in her neck hurt like hell. She pushed and pinched and pressed against the muscle spasm.

Sleeping in the chair in Tom’s hospital room was worth the pain, though. The doctor had recommended a friendly face be there when Tom woke up. Kathryn had spent hours watching Admiral Owen Paris pace a line in the carpet and irritate doctors and nurses with constant questions. 

“Sir,” she’d finally said. “With all due respect, I suggest you go help Mrs. Paris with Miral. I’ll stay.”

Kathryn and Owen had been at the flag officers’ morning briefing when he was notified about the _Bouman_. Owen had paled and signaled for Kathryn to leave with him. They had sprinted across the courtyard from HQ to the medical buildings. Owen’s face had creased with worry, and Kathryn had felt a pain deep in her chest. She’d approved Tom and B’Elanna’s transfers. The _Bouman_ had seemed like the perfect option after _Voyager_ — chief conn officer and chief engineer on a ship built for families.

After Owen left the hospital, Kathryn requested a computer terminal. As the San Francisco sky turned from gray to black, she researched what went wrong on the _Bouman_. On _Voyager_, she hadn’t asked her future counterpart about B’Elanna. Did B'Elanna die in that timeline, too? Or was this a unique cruelty? 

Kathryn hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but she woke up as the window showed the first orange streaks of dawn. She was just pulling her hand from her uniform, hopeful some coffee from the replicator would ease the last of the ache in her neck, when Tom jerked to consciousness with a wince and a low moan. 

She pushed off her chair and tapped her commbadge. “Janeway to Paris.” 

“Paris here,” came a rasp from the bed and a gravelly voice through the comm system.

“Your son is awake, sir.”

“On my way,” Owen replied.

“Tom.” Kathryn put a hand to Tom’s forehead. It felt warm. “Do you know where you are?”

He squinted and shook his head weakly.

Kathryn’s hand moved to Tom’s shoulder.

“You’re at Starfleet Medical, Tom. You suffered a severe concussion and minor internal injuries. Miral is fine. The doctor said —” her voice broke “— the doctor said you held her so tightly that, even though you were knocked unconscious, she didn’t get a scratch.”

Tom’s body relaxed slightly.

The doctor arrived and dimmed the lights. She pulled a medical tricorder from her lab coat pocket.

“Lieutenant Commander Paris,” she nodded over her tricorder readings, “I’m Dr. Travers. Physically, you’re probably a little sore, but will be fine. Mentally, it’s going to take time. You’re on bereavement leave for the next month. You have access to Starfleet counseling should you choose to use it, and to Starfleet housing as well.”

Tom tried to say something. The doctor asked him twice to repeat before he said it clearly enough for anyone to understand. 

“B’Elanna,” Tom whispered, “emergency beam-out?” 

Kathryn and the doctor looked at each other. 

“Tom,” Kathryn focused on his hopeful eyes, “B’Elanna saved almost every life on the _Bouman_ … at the cost of her own. She and the captain went down with the ship.”

Tom turned his head away.

His breathing went ragged. 

His shoulders began to shake.

Tears didn’t fall — they spurted — and sounds of agony came from Tom’s chest. His body contorted again and again.

Kathryn’s eyes burned with her own tears. She wanted to support Tom somehow, but Dr. Travers stepped between them and tried to administer a hypospray. Tom blocked her with a hand to his neck. His wet eyes turned angry at the attempt to sedate him.

The door opened and Owen strode in. His eyes flicked from Tom sobbing to Kathryn crying to Dr. Travers’ obvious impatience. 

“Report,” Owen demanded. When the doctor finished her summary, Owen dismissed her. 

Dr. Travers’ lab coat swung as she left the room. 

“Son, come home,” Owen ordered. “Miral is set up in Kathleen’s old room. Your mother will take care of you both.”

“No.” Tom’s jaw set in defiance. “Starfleet housing.”

As Owen and Tom argued, Kathryn dabbed her eyes with her uniform sleeve. She knew Tom, B’Elanna, and Miral had lived in a Starfleet apartment when _Voyager_ got back to Earth. Their two months there had been happy.

But things had suddenly and dramatically changed.

Kathryn imagined Tom back in the Starfleet housing complex. He would hear the laughter of other families, walk past officers wearing the gold-turtlenecked uniform B’Elanna had worn, see spouses greet each other after a long deployment.

It would be a cruelty. 

“Tom, get your things,” Kathryn snapped. “You and Miral are coming home with me.”


	2. Chapter 2

Just after her promotion, Kathryn had moved into a Victorian rowhouse a few kilometers from headquarters. The large windows caught every bit of light San Francisco had to offer, and she had painted many of the inside walls a sunny yellow. Entering from the front door, the main level held a small foyer that led to a living/dining room, half-bathroom, and eat-in kitchen with a door to the outside. Up the stairs from the living room were two spare bedrooms connected by a bathroom, plus the master suite. The attic held a small office. The basement was empty. The tiny, square backyard had grass and weeds.

When Kathryn brought Tom and Miral home, she took them upstairs so Tom could pick which empty bedroom he wanted and which would be for Miral. He shrugged, so Kathryn chose, tapping her commbadge and giving instructions. A transporter beam filled one room, then the other. A bed for Tom and a crib for Miral materialized, both already made up with linens. There were dressers with clothes in them and a nightstand next to Tom’s bed with a padd ready to download whatever reading material he might like. Miral had toys and a soft rug to play on.

Tom said nothing. 

He just handed Miral to Kathryn, crawled into his new bed, shoes and all, and pulled the covers over his head. He made a long lump. The blanket rose slightly, then fell, as if Tom had fallen instantly into a deep sleep. 

Kathryn stroked Miral’s tiny, ridged back through the cotton jumper Julia Paris had replicated for her. A four-month-old quarter-Klingon should have been roughly equivalent to a year-old human, but Miral had been listless and quiet ever since the rescue ship medic had pulled her from Tom’s arms.

“Do you want a snack, baby?” Kathryn murmured to Miral, closing the door to Tom’s room. “Your mother’s personal logs say you like banana pancakes.” 

***

For the next four days, Kathryn handed Miral to Julia, then left for work. When Kathryn got home in the evenings, Julia gave the baby back. Kathryn would ask if Tom had gotten out of bed and Julia would shake her head.

On the fourth evening, Kathryn marched into Tom’s room, Miral bouncing slightly against her admiral’s belt. Kathryn’s shoulder-length hair swung and her back was ramrod straight. She yanked back the bedding and Tom curled into a ball.

“Thomas Eugene Paris,” she barked. “I’m leaving this house in one hour. Your mother is gone for the day. You have a daughter to take care of, so get out of that bed.”

Kathryn deposited Miral into the center of the snail-shape that was Tom and strode out of the room. 

It’s not that she didn’t sympathize. On the contrary, Kathryn felt Tom’s pain acutely. But, she also knew it would never heal, ever, and if he had wanted babying, he could have stayed with his parents. Her ship — damnit — her _house_, her rules. 

When Kathryn emerged from her bedroom, her hair was half up and she was smoothing a wine-colored dress that skimmed her knees. She nearly walked right into Tom standing just outside her door. Miral was at his feet playing with his toes. 

“I’m sorry,” Tom said to Kathryn.

“Tom.” She put a hand to his chest. “You’re allowed to grieve. You’ll be grieving the rest of your life. But, if you want a babysitter, you’ll need to go to your folks.”

He shook his head. “I’m a child at their house. It brings up memories of …” Tom moved his hand helplessly. 

Kathryn understood. Whether it was Tom’s rebellious youth or Owen’s strong personality or the times Tom and B’Elanna had visited before shipping off — any one of those reasons made sense and Tom was entitled to all of them. 

“I’m your friend and I’m here to help you, but you need to help yourself, too.” Kathryn crouched and ran her fingers through Miral’s dark hair, gently untangling the knots. “I made you an appointment tomorrow at 1400 with a Starfleet grief counselor, Tom, and you’re going to go.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She straightened and narrowed her eyes at him.

“I won’t be ‘ma’am’ed in my own home. Just call me Kathryn, okay?”

A whisper of a smile crossed his lips. 

“Or what,” Tom said, “you’ll demote me?”

She smacked his arm as she walked by. “I’m glad your sense of humor is coming back.” Her heels clacked on the wood floor. “Don’t wait up.”

Tom’s voice trailed down the stairs, “Where are you going?”

She slipped out the front door without answering.


	3. Chapter 3

The next evening, not long after his mom left, Tom heard Kathryn come home from work. He was on the floor of Miral’s room, his legs straight out, back against the wall. He watched the baby crawl on her rug, enthralled by her new toys. She had been walking before the warp core breach. B’Elanna had seen the first steps and had clapped her hands with delight at what her daughter could do. 

When Kathryn poked her head in, Tom motioned for her to join him. She held up an index finger, then returned a few minutes later, her uniform replaced by beige slacks and a light blue, long-sleeved shirt. Kathryn still had her Starfleet socks on, though, and they both looked at them when she slid down the wall to sit next to him.

“Now why did I never notice how much longer my legs are than yours?” Tom asked. 

“Because you knew what was good for you,” she smirked. 

“Anyway,” he said. “Thanks.”

“For?”

“For letting Miral and me stay here. For making me get out of bed. For scheduling the counseling appointment.” He rubbed his eyes. “It’s all helping.”

Miral settled between them, babbling and playing with Kathryn’s fingers. 

“Tom,” Kathryn said, Miral pulling on her pinky. “I have some idea of what you’re going through. Not exactly the same, but the feeling.”

He cleared his throat. “Because of Justin?”

Tom had been a sullen teenager at the funeral for Kathryn’s first fiancé. Owen had pointed out Kathryn and Tom had scrutinized the wisp of a blue-uniformed officer his father talked about so much. She’d been pale and unmoving, her hands folded on her lap, her gaze never wavering from the symbolic, empty casket. After that, when she would visit his parents’ house, Tom would make himself scarce, not sure what to say.

In Miral’s room, Kathryn’s eyes were on the window as ships and satellites twinkled across the starry sky. “Yes,” she said. “Because of that. But life goes on and we have to make the most of it.”

“It’s been a week since B’Elanna died,” Tom pointed out. 

Miral bit Kathryn’s finger. 

Klingon teeth were sharp and, though Kathryn didn’t cry out, little circles of blood bloomed up and down her pinky.

“No!” she scolded, scooping up Miral and depositing her in her crib. The baby wailed and Kathryn shouted over her, “This is how you learn not to bite.” 

Miral whimpered. 

“How do you know how to do that — to be a parent?” Tom asked. 

“It’s like having a crew, isn’t it?” Kathryn shrugged. “You do something wrong, you get confined to quarters.”

Tom chortled. “I’ll have to tell Harry.”

Kathryn disappeared into the bathroom and Tom heard a dermal regenerator. When she returned, her finger mended, Kathryn eased back down the wall. 

“Look, Tom, I’m not trying to rush you,” she said. “But when my first fiancé and my father died, I spent months hiding in my bed. I regret that. If I’m too hard on you, tell me. I just want to —” 

“Kathryn,” Tom interrupted. This was the first time he had used her given name. “Where did you go last night? You got home at 0200.”

Miral slept through the night, so Tom was letting on that he had listened for Kathryn to come home.

She stood and picked up a teary Miral. 

“Dinner time,” she announced. “I think the replicator will make noodles for a sweet baby girl and how about salmon for us, Tom, huh?

***

They ate together every night except for Thursdays, when she went out. Kathryn would tell the most interesting, non-classified parts of her day, and Tom would tell his victories — not napping when Miral did, taking Miral in her hover stroller for a jog around the block, letting his mom know he could handle the daytimes on his own. After dinner, Kathryn would read on the couch and smile when Tom joined her once he got Miral to sleep. 

“Ugh,” Kathryn said one night, throwing down her padd. “Reports.”

“Ugh,” Tom agreed, throwing down his own padd. “Postings.”

“Where do you think you’ll go?” she asked. 

“Actually,” Tom turned to face her, “I’m considering jobs outside of Starfleet. There’s a holonovel production studio in the Bay area that wants retro action/adventure ideas. I have some simulations saved from _Voyager_. What do you say, Arachnia, can I use you as part of my application?”

Kathryn stiffened into her Queen Arachnia pose, bending her hand at the wrist. “Anything for you, my liege.” She grinned, then relaxed back onto the couch cushions. “You’d really leave Starfleet, Tom?”

He shrugged. “I don’t want to work at HQ. I’m not qualified for Starfleet Medical, and I wouldn’t like that anyway. Without B’Elanna,” he swallowed hard, “Miral will need family even more, so I want to stay near my folks in San Francisco. That means any real piloting is out.... I think I’m done.”

Kathryn picked up Tom’s padd. She tapped and scrolled, tapped and scrolled, then turned the device around. “What about this one?”

Tom’s eyebrows rose and he murmured approvingly. “This is why you’re the queen.”

The job was at Starfleet Academy teaching an elective course, Introduction to the Holonovel: Coding for Fun and Career Advancement.


	4. Chapter 4

While Tom waited to hear back from his application to the academy, he told Kathryn he would find a more permanent place to live.

She was sitting on the couch next to him. Most nights Kathryn changed out of her uniform before dinner, but she had been delayed that evening. The new uniforms were more stiff than the old ones, and she scratched at her upper arm. 

“Look, Tom,” she said, “you’re welcome to stay here as long as you like. I’ve enjoyed your company these last few weeks.”

It was true. Kathryn could have been more productive in her home office, but she barely used it anymore — just for secure communications or classified work. It was nicer to read reports while Tom sat next to her on the couch perusing job postings, a piloting magazine, or a novel. After about an hour, he would insist she stop working and they would chat. One night when Kathryn reminisced about B’Elanna’s understanding of temporal mechanics, he’d actually smiled. “Yeah,” Tom had said. “Brains and beauty. I was a lucky guy.”

He smiled again at Kathryn’s invitation to stay. 

“I thought I was cramping your style,” he said, bumping her playfully. Kathryn’s uniform shoulder crumpled and sprang back. 

“Oh, you are,” she agreed. “But it’s fun to talk with someone at the end of the day, and Miral is a sweetheart when she’s not sharpening her teeth on me.”

Kathryn didn’t tell Tom she slept better knowing he was in the room next to hers. All those years living in quarters on _Voyager _had acclimated her to other people nearby. Choosing a house instead of an apartment had been a way to prove to herself she could go back to her old way of life. Until Tom moved in, she had spent most nights staring at the ceiling, unnerved at being the only one home. 

“Well, thanks,” he said. 

She put a hand to his forearm. “So, you’ll stay?”

Tom nodded. “As long as you’ll have us.”

***

At breakfast the next morning, Miral stretched her tiny fist out to the side. Scrambled eggs streamed around her fingers and hit the wood floor with a splat. 

Tom scolded her, but she grinned and squeezed harder. Kathryn sipped her coffee, watching father and daughter. 

“Miral,” Tom warned for the third time, “that’s enough.”

Miral laughed and wiggled her fingers so more pieces of egg dropped to the floor.

Kathryn put her coffee mug on the table.

“May I?” she asked. 

Tom leaned back in his chair. “Go for it.”

“Miral Paris,” she barked. Kathryn was sitting in a kitchen chair in her bathrobe, yet Miral froze as if she knew a captain was on deck. “If you drop eggs again, your dining privileges will be revoked and you will be confined to quarters. Do you understand me?”

That’s when Miral said her first word. 

“Yes!” 

Tom stared at his daughter. He began to holler, pounding the table and jumping up in excitement. Kathryn leapt to Miral, “Say ‘yes’ again!”

“Yes!” Miral grinned.

Tom pulled Miral out of her highchair and danced with her around the kitchen. “Yes, yes, yes!” Kathryn toasted them with what was left of her coffee.

“Oh my God,” Tom wheezed. “She’s an agreeable baby! Who would have thought with her mo—”

Tom’s smile disappeared. 

He shuddered.

“Tom —” 

Kathryn hadn’t moved, but Tom backed away. 

“Give me a few minutes,” he said.

Miral looked from one adult to the other, her tiny eyebrows knitted with worry. Tom carried her up the stairs and closed her bedroom door behind them. Kathryn couldn’t help it. Holding her robe tightly to her neck, she followed and listened from the top of the stairs. 

“Your mother had this temper.” Tom’s voice floated down the hall. “At first, I didn’t understand and I thought she hated me. Then, I didn’t understand when she liked me. Your mama taught me so much about patience and love.”

As Tom spoke, Kathryn shifted her weight from one leg to the other. She needed to get dressed for work, but she couldn’t leave Tom like this.

“Your mama had a lot of pain, but I like to think she was happiest with us. But you won’t remember her, sweet girl, and that’s the hardest part.”

Kathryn hadn’t seen Tom cry since the hospital. But she heard it now. She took a deep breath and knocked on his door.

“Come in,” he said, his voice watery. 

Miral was standing on her father’s legs, one little hand on Tom’s chest for balance. Fingers on the other hand traced the tears down his cheeks. This was good, Kathryn reassured herself. If Tom cried all the time, his tears wouldn’t interest Miral.

Or could this have become a favorite game?

“Tom,” Kathryn said, “how often do you cry?”

He wiped his eyes. “Maybe once every few days.”

“That’s not bad,” she murmured. 

She eased down the wall to their now-familiar spots on the floor of Miral’s room. Miral lost interest in her father’s face and began to tug on Kathryn’s toes. Kathryn curled them and Miral laughed. 

“What about you?” Tom asked. 

“I don’t cry too much these days.” She raised an eyebrow. “Now, in the Delta Quadrant, that was a different story.”

“I’m serious.” Tom turned to face her. “In the first month after Justin died, how often did you cry?”

They had only talked about Justin the one time, and, while Kathryn wanted to support Tom, it had been harder than she had expected. Her eyes went to the window, but it was daylight so she could only see clouds. 

“I … I didn’t cry at all.” Just talking about it brought back an echo of the numbness. “As I’ve said, there are some similarities, but it was a different situation.”

Miral bit Kathryn’s big toe. 

The red nail polish cracked and the pain helped Kathryn shake off her memories. “No!” She scrambled to put Miral into her crib. “Biting is not nice.” 

Miral didn’t cry when Kathryn punished her anymore. She just looked somewhat ashamed and then played with her stuffed bunny.

When Kathryn turned, Tom was staring. She saw pity in his eyes and something else, too. Confusion, maybe?

“Don’t judge me, Tom. It was a complicated time.”

“Kathryn,” he said softly, “you never even say his name.”

“We’re invited to a garden party.” Tom shook his head like a dog trying to get water off after a bath, but Kathryn barreled ahead, needing to shift topics. “My mother wants to see you and Miral and your folks. This Saturday. My sister and her family should be there, too. I was supposed to tell you.”

“All right,” Tom said.

***

Tom ran his hand along the porch’s white-painted wood bannister. The last time he’d been to the Janeway farmhouse was for a dinner party Gretchen Janeway hosted for _Voyager’s_ senior staff and their families. B’Elanna had delightedly shown off three-week-old Miral for everyone to admire. 

Just as she did then, Gretchen practically flew through the front door to greet her guests. This time, she hugged her daughter, then five-month-old Miral in her hover stroller, then Tom. 

“I’m so sorry, Tom,” Gretchen said, her hand cupping his cheek. “B’Elanna was the nicest Klingon I ever met.”

“Mom!” Kathryn’s arms were in the air. “You can't say it like that!”

Gretchen looked at her daughter questioningly but Tom reassured her, “Don’t worry about it. Thank you, Mrs. Janeway.”

They were shooed to the backyard where there was a summertime feast of watermelon, hamburgers, and grilled corn. Soon, the yard filled with Owen and Julia Paris, plus Kathryn’s sister Phoebe and her three children as well as Phoebe’s husband. The long picnic table was topped with a paper cloth that flapped in the breeze. Everyone settled quickly. Miral sat on Tom’s lap. As she ate, Tom dabbed her arms to keep watermelon juice from dripping onto his pants. He was about to elbow Kathryn to ask for another napkin when Gretchen came by with a pitcher of lemonade. 

“Oh,” Gretchen told her daughter, “I invited the Johnsons. Carla said they would be a little late because of their daughter’s nap time, but they should be here any minute.”

Tom knew Kathryn’s second fiancé was a man by the name of Mark Johnson. It was close quarters on the picnic bench and Tom felt Kathryn’s body stiffen against the side of his upper arm. 

“Are you okay?” he asked. 

She pushed her plate of food away. “I’m fine.”

Tom inhaled sharply. In the Delta Quadrant, an “I’m fine” from Captain Janeway usually meant she was sick or murderous ... or hiding something. 

The yard was enclosed by a white-painted fence and a grey-haired man let himself in through the gate. With him was a woman about Kathryn’s size, plus two small children. Phoebe’s kids leapt from the picnic table to greet the newcomers.

“Do you want more watermelon cubes, Miral?” Kathryn asked. 

“Yes!”

Kathryn grabbed Tom’s knife. Her cuts into the red flesh of the watermelon were clean and quick and precise.

“Hi, Kath! It’s so nice of your mom to have us.”

“Hi, Carla.” Kathryn squinted as she turned. “You know my mom loves to throw a party. It’s nice to see you again.”

Kathryn introduced Tom and Carla and, when he came over a few minutes later, Tom and Mark. The Johnson children were already playing with Phoebe’s kids — Mark said something about his longstanding tennis games with Phoebe — and Miral strained to be set free. Tom lowered her to the grass and she sped on all fours toward the other children. Carla and Mark settled across the picnic table from Tom and Kathryn.

“So,” Carla said brightly, “you two were on _Voyager_ together?”

Tom nodded. “Kathryn recruited me, actually. Our fathers worked together, so our families have known each other a long time.”

Tom wasn’t embarrassed Kathryn had sprung him from prison, but he didn’t want to bring it up either. 

“Wow, Kath seems to have a history with everyone.” Carla elbowed her husband. “Mark, how old were you when you two met?”

“Eleven,” Mark and Kathryn said at the same time, their voices low. Tom saw them look at each other, then away. He hadn’t known they went back that far. 

“Um, what do you do, Carla?” Tom asked. 

She swallowed a mouthful of hamburger. “I work with Mark at the philosophy think tank. Well, with the kids I work mornings and afternoons. Mark takes the afternoons and evenings, so the kids spend the afternoon in daycare.” Carla speared one of Miral’s watermelon cubes with her fork. “Of course, these days, Mark’s Thursday evenings go to early Friday mornings, but that’s a different kind of work and I understand.”

“Thursday evenings, you say?” Tom asked. 

Kathryn kept chewing her corn and Mark didn’t pause drinking his lemonade, but Tom had a strange feeling in his stomach.

“Oh, Tom,” Carla said, looking over Tom’s shoulder, “your daughter is so cute playing tag with the other kids.”

Tom and Kathryn turned and, sure enough, Miral was running and laughing, the sun glinting off her dark hair. 

*** 

The transporter station wasn’t far from the farmhouse. Kathryn and Tom each held one of Miral’s hands and Tom steered the hover stroller that now carried a bag of leftovers Gretchen had insisted they take. Their shadows were long. Tom was tired from spending time with his parents, plus Kathryn’s family and friends. Still, he was grateful to have people around him on Earth.

“You brilliant girl,” Kathryn cooed to Miral. “From crawling to running in one afternoon.”

Miral turned her small face to Kathryn. “Yes!” 

They laughed.

At home, Tom ran a bath for Miral. He pulled off his daughter's grass-stained clothes and plopped her in the tub. He frowned even though Miral was cheerful, lovingly patting the bubbles on top of the water.

“Fingers and toes, she’s brutal. Bubbles, she’s gentle,” Kathryn groused, leaning against the doorway. She came in, scooped up a handful of bubbles, and blew them into the air. Miral giggled as they landed in the tub and on the wall. 

“Kathryn,” Tom didn’t look up from soaping Miral’s sticky arms, “about Thursdays —” 

“First, that’s none of your business.” Kathryn spoke more softly than Tom had expected. “Second, it’s over. I talked to Mark when you and your mom were chatting with my sister.”

She left the bathroom. A few minutes later, Tom heard water rush through the plumbing. He guessed Kathryn was taking her own bath. 

He cleaned between every one of Miral’s toes. He gently rubbed baby shampoo into her hair, then rinsed it clean and combed out every knot. He scrubbed her back and wiped her face with a washcloth as she squirmed. He hauled her out of the tub, wrapped her in a fluffy towel, and brushed her teeth. He zipped Miral into her pajamas, lowered her into her crib, and kissed her ridged forehead. He made sure she had her stuffed bunny and he tiptoed out of her room.

“Dada,” Miral said. 

Tom grinned from the doorway. “Yeah, baby?”

“Yes!”

“Yes, indeed,” he murmured. “Good night, Miral.”

“Yes!”

He closed the door.

Would Miral be saying “mama” if B’Elanna was still alive? What would she call Kathryn? His parents? His sisters’ kids used “grandpa” and “grandma,” but the Klingon words were “_vavnI’_” and “_SoSnI’._” John Torres hadn’t responded to subspace letters since B’Elanna died. Would he need a name, too?

Tom replied to a couple of messages — one from Harry and one from his sister Moira asking how the Janeway garden party went. He rubbed his eyes and pushed his computer away. Before he knew where he was, Tom was knocking on Kathryn’s door. He’d never been in her room, but he wanted to apologize. 

“Come in,” she called, a wary note to her voice.

Tom opened the door. While the rest of the house had a lived-in feel with artwork on the walls — much of it painted by Phoebe Janeway — plus books and knick-knacks on shelves, Kathryn’s room was bare except for her bed, a grey armchair, and a long dresser. The yellow of the walls seemed brighter and the wood floors seemed harder. The window shades were up, showing the dark, clouded-over sky.

“Did you want something?” Kathryn asked. Tom realized he had been staring at her bedroom. 

Kathryn was sitting up, pillows bracing her against her bed’s metal headboard. Her finger held her place in a book and her hair was hidden under a white towel tied turban style. Her nightgowns, when Tom saw them, usually came up to her neck, but this one was light pink and low-cut. Tom focused on looking at her face. 

“You were right,” he said from the doorway. 

“You’re going to have to be more specific,” she smirked. 

“You were right that it’s not my business what you’re doing with Mark. You obviously have Carla’s permission, so —”

“Tom,” she laid her open book spine up on the bed, “turn around. Stay there, just turn around.”

When Kathryn told him to turn toward her again, she had her robe on and she was sitting in the armchair. Her towel was folded next to her and her damp hair was finger-combed. She motioned for Tom to sit on the corner of the bed closest to her and he did, feeling awkward in a way he hadn’t since moving in. He thought about making a joke about having seen her body plenty as _Voyager’s_ field medic, but decided against it.

“At ease,” Kathryn said with a grin. Tom hadn’t sat straight up on purpose. But now he slouched a little, mostly in an attempt to make her more comfortable.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have come in your room.”

She waved away his apology. “You’re right, Tom, that what I do with my time isn’t your business. However, Carla is a bit of a talker. You may have noticed.”

“Oh, I noticed,” Tom agreed. 

“She’s a good person,” Kathryn explained. “She just isn’t the type to trust with classified information if you know what I mean.” 

Tom chortled, but Kathryn looked at her lap and he stopped. He hadn’t known she was trying to hide how upset she was.

“Hey,” he took her hand. It was cool, as always, but shaking a little. “You know you can talk to me, right?”

Kathryn pulled her hand back and hugged herself. There was a window next to the armchair and she looked into the dark night.

“Mark wasn’t just my fiancé,” she said. “He was my best friend. Carla understands and has been very generous with his time. Mark loves Carla. He thinks he’s a better match with her than he was with me, and he’s probably right.”

Tom scoffed. “You’re loyal, you’re energetic, you’re brilliant, you’re beautiful, you’re —” 

She shook her head and frowned. “I’m on psychiatric grounding, most of my friends were killed in the Dominion War, and Starfleet monitors my communications because, according to Admiral Hayes, I’m ‘too interested in diverting busy starships to waste time studying spatial ephemera.’ Not too many science officers make it to the admiralty, Tom. Lots of former security chiefs, though.”

Tom’s instinct was to hug her, to comfort her somehow. But Kathryn had never spoken to him like this and he wanted her to continue.

“In the Delta Quadrant, I was everyone's superior officer. I couldn’t completely relax around anyone. It was seven years of …” she wrapped her fingers around her neck, as if to suggest she had been without air. “Anyway, Mark ... he’s been helping me learn to open up again.”

“But Starfleet counselors —” 

“Aren’t my best friend.” Kathryn blinked rapidly. “But, clearly, I’ve been taking up too much of Mark’s time. He and I promised to meet for a quick coffee sometimes. That will simply have to be enough.”

Her words were brave, but Kathryn looked small and uncertain. Tom had always felt protective of her, even when expressing her need for medical attention or food got him a scolding on _Voyager_. 

“It sounds like you could use a new best friend.” He stood. “I’d like to volunteer.”

“Be careful,” she murmured. “Might be a dangerous mission.”

“I think I’m qualified.” Tom pulled Kathryn to her feet. His arms slid around her torso, and, because they both were barefoot, he rested his chin on top of her damp head. 

She hesitated, then gingerly hugged him back. 

“Besides,” Tom added, “it’s more dangerous for you. I’m not sure how Harry’s going to feel about sharing.”

He felt her laughter against his chest and couldn’t help but join in.


	5. Chapter 5

Concerned the progress she’d made with Mark was tenuous, Kathryn made an effort to talk to Tom, not just about her experiences, but also about her feelings. When she forgot or became evasive, he would prompt her. As she went about her day, Kathryn found herself making mental notes of things she wanted to discuss during their evenings on the couch together. 

Then she realized Tom must be doing the same thing.

“How long after Justin died did you fall in love with Mark?” he asked. 

Kathryn felt the old, numb feeling coming on. She forced it away and answered. 

“A few months after the accident, Mark was the only one I found myself able to talk with about it. Love came later. I was focused on my career and dating another Starfleet officer didn’t seem like a good idea. Why?”

“I ‘graduated’ from grief counseling today.” Tom shrugged. “I don’t know what that means, but I —” 

Just then, Tom’s padd dinged with an incoming message. Kathryn picked up the device from the coffee table and handed it to him. 

Tom read.

His face split in a smile.

“I got the job at the academy!” He hugged Kathryn and, in his excitement, kissed her on the cheek. “I’ve got to comm my mom to see if she can watch Miral tomorrow afternoon. The department chair asked me to come in and meet my new colleagues!”

Tom ran to the computer console. Kathryn touched her fingertips to the damp circle on her cheek. When was the last time someone had kissed her in exuberance?

The next evening, Julia was still there when Kathryn came home from work. Tom was electric. He had Miral in his arms and he gesticulated so wildly that Julia and Kathryn exchanged a look. Miral laughed as she jerked back and forth, but Julia took her granddaughter and held her tightly as Tom shared details from his day.

He liked the other professors. They had taken him out to lunch at a Bolian bistro and the food had been amazing. 

Because it was the middle of the summer term, he would teach workshops, then start regular classes in the fall. After two successful semesters, he could receive a promotion to commander.

He liked every cadet he had met. A few had saluted him, which he found hilarious.

His office view was of the weapons range, so he got to watch cadets try to phaser moving targets. They were terrible at it and he ended up going out there to help them.

And the best part, _the best part_, is the special task the academy assigned him: to use holo-simulation to create new maneuvers for the Nova Squadron flight team. 

“New flight maneuvers!” Tom crowed. “No one has tried that in fifty years! They said that’s what got me the job — holo-programming and piloting experience!”

Julia looked like she would burst with pride.

Miral laughed and clapped her hands. “Yes, Dada, yes!”

Kathryn was sure Tom would mention B’Elanna any second, that he would say how much he wished she could be there or he would ask what Kathryn thought B’Elanna would have to say about Tom Paris, of all people, teaching at Starfleet Academy.

But, instead, Tom pulled his mother, Miral, and Kathryn into a hug. He closed his eyes and whispered, “This is a dream, and I am so grateful.”

As she hugged Tom back, Kathryn saw Julia’s mouth twist into a hard line.

***

They had attended the academy a decade apart, but Kathryn and Tom had some experiences in common. He insisted she come with him one morning to see Boothby. When the old groundskeeper presented her with a bouquet of roses, Kathryn felt like a teenager again. When Tom had a meeting with Admiral Hendricks, Kathryn agreed to stay for the first five minutes, but the three of them ended up chatting for an hour about the early days of the space program. Tom suggested a swing by the Night Owl for coffee and, even though cadets stared at the flag officer in their midst, Kathryn found herself pounding the table laughing as she and Tom exchanged stories about tough professors and all-nighters.

On the couch after dinner, Tom would mention curriculum ideas and they would talk them through. One of his many concepts for new flight maneuvers led him to suggest Kathryn order starships to send shuttles to complete the science-oriented missions she felt were so important — and the senior admiralty let her do so without argument. The two of them often looked at information on his padd together, so Tom got in the habit of putting his arm around Kathryn. She would lean against him.

There were special occasions, too. 

Each time one of Tom’s academy workshops went well, he took Kathryn and Miral out to celebrate. They had escargot in Marseille, pho in Hanoi, paella in Madrid, zrazi in Kiev. Kathryn and Tom both had been brought up to believe success was its own reward, but the vestiges of Tom’s rebelliousness included believing in a celebration for a job well done. Kathryn came around to the merits of his point of view. However, as someone who didn’t care much about food, she tried to draw the line at chocolate in Berlin. “I’m going to go up a uniform size!” she protested as Tom handed her yet another confection. Tom slipped his arm around her waist and told her she was perfect. Tom was an incorrigible flirt, but Kathryn didn’t see the harm in enjoying it.

The thing was, Tom figured out he wasn’t just flirting to pass the time. He made a special appointment with his grief counselor. Starfleet medical privacy was a sham, so he spoke obliquely. 

“What if,” he asked, “I found myself really enjoying someone’s company?” 

The grief counselor said that would be good, enjoyment in others is an important part of life. 

“No,” Tom pressed, “Like, what if my conversations with this person were the best part of my day? What if having my arm around this person felt really, really good? What if this person got chocolate on the corner of her mouth and I had the urge to lick it off? My wife died just a few months ago, so something like that would be wrong, wouldn’t it?” 

There was no right or wrong, the grief counselor replied, only feelings to be explored. 

Tom left the appointment feeling frustrated. 

That night on the couch, his heart pounded when he put his arm around Kathryn. She was wearing slacks and a button-down shirt and when a button came undone and he could see her bra, Tom told her he liked the view. Thinking he was kidding, she fixed the button and then playfully smacked him as she refocused her attention on his padd. But Tom’s palms were wet. 

They spent Federation Day with Tom’s family. Miral and her cousins struggled through the same Owen Paris lectures Tom had found sleep-inducing as a child. Tom and his sisters elbowed each other, but then he noticed Kathryn, cross-legged on the floor with the kids, rapt on Owen’s every word. Tom joined her and his sisters exchanged glances, waggling their eyebrows.

***

Kathryn walked down her street awkwardly holding a too-big pizza box. Tom had been getting home not long after she did as he got ready for the start of the term, and Kathryn thought he might like one of his favorite foods fresh, not replicated. She balanced the box on her knee as she keyed in her entry code and opened the door. To her surprise, Tom was in the living area playing with Miral as Julia prepared to leave. Miral jumped up and hugged Kathryn’s legs. Tom took the pizza box and asked if she had read his mind.

“Why?” Kathryn leaned over to kiss Miral on the head.

“Because it’s a day to celebrate! Miral got a spot in the academy daycare program, and her teacher is a quarter Klingon, just like Miral!”

“That’s great.” Kathryn grinned. “Maybe she’ll have potty training tips. We could use them.” She called to Julia, “Will you join us for dinner? There’s plenty.”

“No.” Julia folded her arms. “Thank you.”

On his first day of the semester, Tom commed Kathryn just before his class.

“Wish me luck,” he said. 

“I wished you luck at home this morning,” she replied, pulling a padd from the stack on her desk. 

“Yeah,” he winked. “I guess I just wanted to see you so I’ll be smiling when I walk in the classroom.”

She rolled her eyes and cut the comm line, but Tom’s flattery had worked on her since Auckland and she knew it. 

A few weeks later, they went to visit Tuvok in his office on campus. His security methodology courses were popular with cadets. Tom wanted permission to use Tuvok’s mutiny training holo-program in Tom’s classes. Kathryn had tagged along to say hello to her old friend. 

“It would be an honor, Mr. Paris,” Tuvok replied. “Though I trust you will modify the protagonists to no longer include yourself or the admiral.”

“Nah,” Tom said. “Part of the authenticity is Kathryn Janeway and Tom Paris against the odds.”

If Tuvok’s exhale had been a decibel louder, Kathryn would have ruled it a sigh. 

“Tuvok always liked you, Tom,” she said as they walked toward her office at headquarters. The breeze caught her hair and Kathryn moved her hand to smooth it.

Tom chortled. “Yeah, about as much as Chakotay liked me.”

Kathryn’s hand froze. Though she and Tom had spoken about many topics, with the exception of a heartfelt condolence message Chakotay sent Tom not long after B’Elanna died, _Voyager’s_ former first officer hadn’t come up. 

Tom began to stammer, “I mean —”

“It’s okay, Tom,” Kathryn said quickly. “I trust you got an invitation this morning, too.”

“Yes, but I didn’t —”

They nodded as two admirals walked past them going in the other direction. 

“Are you going to go?” Kathryn asked. “Chakotay and Seven asked me to officiate.”

“I’m not sure,” Tom replied. “I mean, it’s also Miral’s birthday.”

“I checked,” Kathryn said, “and Seven told me having a cake for Miral and singing Happy Birthday for her would be ‘an efficient celebration.’”

“That explains a few things,” Tom muttered. 

The wedding was in two months. So, while Chakotay and Seven hadn’t given much notice, most of their friends would be gathered earlier that day for the _Voyager_ homecoming anniversary. 

“Do you want to go together?” Tom asked. They went places together all the time. 

Tom and Kathryn were walking uphill and, to give herself time to think, Kathryn pretended she was winded — deep breaths in through her nose and out through her mouth. 

Tom was easy company. Spending time with him helped her rediscover the fun of the present, just as Mark helped her reconnect with the openness she had shared with him in the past. 

But attending an event with Tom in front of her former crew raised Kathryn’s old privacy hackles. Most everyone from _Voyager_ knew Tom and Miral had moved in with Kathryn six months before, but Harry had helped spread the word it was just house-sharing, like neighboring quarters on the ship. That wasn’t exactly true anymore. Kathryn’s throat constricted and her fake breathlessness became real.

“Come over here.” Tom steered her by her elbow to a bench and they sat. She felt the pressure of his fingers on her wrist and saw the frown lines on his forehead as he counted her heartbeats. “You seem okay,” he said. “Let's give it a minute.”

If they hadn’t been on Starfleet grounds, she would have squeezed his hand in thanks for his concern. She’d always been touch-oriented, but Kathryn realized she had become more physically comfortable with Tom than anyone else on Earth. 

After he dropped her off at her office, Kathryn went to her window to watch Tom backtrack to the academy. She easily could have walked to HQ by herself, but there hadn’t even been a discussion. 

Kathryn was used to seeing Tom in his bathrobe or the t-shirt and shorts he wore to sleep. Like her, he often changed into civilian clothes when he got home, usually a long-sleeved shirt and pants. But, as she watched him stroll the Starfleet complex in his uniform, Tom was almost jaunty as he nodded to passersby. A cadet spilled a case of padds and Tom bent to help pick up the mess. The sun caught his blond hair and, through his trousers, Kathryn noticed the muscles that had developed during Tom’s hover stroller jogs with Miral. He turned and, even though she was too far away to see them, Kathryn could have named the exact shade of blue of his eyes and the way they would crinkle when he smiled. 

Oh, no.

A few hours later, Kathryn sent Tom a text-only message: _Working late. See you tomorrow. _

The next morning, she left the house before Tom and Miral woke up.

_Slammed with work_, was her message to Tom that afternoon. _See you in the morning._

The morning was a Saturday and Kathryn left early to play a few rounds of Velocity at the Starfleet gym. She jogged home, hoping to get there after Tom and Miral finished breakfast.

“Hi there, stranger,” Tom said when she came in through the back door. He was in his sleep shorts and t-shirt sitting in a kitchen chair. His hair was flat on the side he’d slept on and there was a crease on his cheek from his pillowcase. Kathryn’s face flushed and she averted her eyes.

“Kat-Kat is here!” Miral cried. She abandoned her scrambled eggs to slip out of her booster seat and hug Kathryn’s legs. “I missed you, Kat-Kat!”

“I’m all sweaty, sweet girl,” Kathryn said, though she couldn’t help leaning over to kiss the top of Miral’s head. 

“I didn’t know you were a runner.” Tom took a sip of his orange juice. “Next time, tell me and I’ll come with you. Miral can ride in her stroller. I’d like to watch you run.” He winked.

“I was playing Velocity,” Kathryn explained, trying to ignore the rest of what Tom said. “Anyway, I’ll freshen up and then I’m going to visit my sister. I’ve got a date tonight so I’ll be home late.”

Tom spilled his orange juice. 

Kathryn had been dabbing her face with a small towel, so she threw it to Tom and he caught the juice puddle just before it flowed off the edge of the table. 

“A date?” Tom watched the liquid seep into the towel. 

“The ambassador from Rigel Six has been asking me out to dinner for weeks. I finally agreed to go.” Kathryn shrugged. 

Tom tossed the towel into the recycler. Kathryn admired the smooth arc it made before landing in the machine and dissolving. 

The heel of her hand went to her forehead. If she was going to find everything Tom did adorable, this would be that much more difficult. 

“Well, have fun,” Tom said. “I hope the ambassador is worthy of you.” 

He smiled, but his eyes didn’t crinkle. 

Kathryn turned to go. It was better this way, she told herself. The knot in her stomach didn’t matter. 


	6. Chapter 6

When Tom arrived for dinner Saturday night at his parents’ house, the first thing his mother said was, “Where’s Kathryn?”

“You could greet your granddaughter,” Tom replied irritably. 

Miral ran to her play spot in the corner. The living/dining area was lined with windows and the open, airy room usually was Tom’s favorite in the house. When the fog was thick, it felt like being inside a cloud. Today, though, he just wanted to close the blinds and sulk on the sofa with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. 

“This was Dada’s boat.” Miral solemnly held up one of Tom’s old toys. “Now it’s Miral’s boat.”

Owen riffled her hair. “Growing so fast.”

“Well, that’s what Klingon kids do,” Tom snapped. “She’s basically a three-year-old, not a ten-month-old.”

Owen and Julia exchanged a look. 

“Is Kathryn coming?” Julia asked. “I have the table set for five.”

Tom felt warm. “Ah, no. I was going to ask if she wanted to, but then she said she had a date.”

“Must be that ambassador from Rigel Six.” Owen chuckled.

“_You knew_?!” Tom didn’t mean to shout. He worried his heart would pound out of his chest. His hands had balled into fists and he was breathing hard.

Miral sailed the old toy boat along the back of the sofa as Julia looked from her husband to her son. “Owen,” she said. “I’ll hold dinner. You two go.”

Owen cocked his head.

Tom followed Owen to his office, hating the familiar feeling of waiting for his father to yell at him.

Instead of sitting behind his desk, leaving Tom to one of the two chairs on the other side, Owen sat in one of the guest chairs. Tom sank into the neighboring seat. 

“Thomas,” Owen started and Tom groaned inside, “we all miss B’Elanna. She was a wonderful addition to this family. I’ve known Kathryn for more than twenty years and she’s got a great heart. But, you’re moving too fast.”

Tom ran a shaky hand through his hair. “Kathryn is my friend,” he said. “That’s it.”

“Son, you two live together. You attend family functions together. Your daughter talks about ‘Kat-Kat’ and your mother says when one of you gets home from work the other one lights up like Federation Day fireworks.”

The words were out of Tom’s mouth before he could rein them in: “Kathryn lights up when I get home?”

Owen scowled and Tom forced the grin off his own face.

“Dad,” Tom said, “she’s helping me out, something she’s done before and I hope she won’t have to do again. She got me out of prison and we lived on the same starship for seven years. What’s the difference?”

Owen leaned toward Tom. “Your wife has been dead for a little over six months. Your mother and I have been pleasant about this whole thing because we like Kathryn. But, son —”

Tom stood.

“You and I have been on good terms lately. The best of my life. Please, Dad, let’s keep it that way. I don’t want to discuss this.”

As he strode out of the office, Tom felt his father’s angry eyes on his back. 

***

The ambassador from Rigel Six looked like a holonovel hero with a square jaw and chiseled features. His hair was muscular where Tom’s was weak and his skin was tan where Tom’s was pale. 

Of course, Tom shouldn’t have known any of this. It was 2300 when Kathryn and the ambassador came in through the front door laughing so hard they careened into each other. 

“Shhh,” Kathryn whispered, her index finger to her lips. 

“Right,” the ambassador whispered back. “Your roommate.”

Tom gripped the railing on the stairs. Roommate? Tom may have thought about more, but what happened to best friend at least?

The lights were at 60 percent, but Kathryn didn’t brighten them. She was wearing a black dress Tom had never seen before. The length was appropriate — it just covered her knees — but it was tourniquet-tight with a dip where her silver necklace disappeared into her cleavage. She seemed especially short and Tom noticed her heels dangling from her hooked index finger. 

A hundred daring scenarios raced through his head. But, instead, Tom peeled his hands off the railing, retreated to his room, and climbed into bed. Even with his ears sandwiched between pillows, he heard the pop of a bottle opening, the clinking of glasses, and Kathryn’s voice imploring the ambassador to tell her another funny story.

***

“How was your date last night?” Tom asked, trying and failing at nonchalance. 

He was in the backyard with Miral. He had replicated her a small slide and she was climbing and sliding, climbing and sliding. Kathryn had just come in through the gate. Tom noticed again how flushed she got from running home after playing Velocity — and how her exercise tunic clung to her chest. She always smelled like lavender, but when she perspired the stronger fragrance made Tom a little crazy.

“Oh, the date was fine,” Kathryn said airily. “Nice guy. I’m supposed to see him again Wednesday night.”

Tom wanted to punch something. 

“Kat-Kat!” Miral demanded, her arms out. “Hug me!”

Kathryn hugged Miral, then moved toward the house. She brushed past Tom and he bit back the urge to ask for a hug the same way Miral had. Instead, he reached for Kathryn’s hand. 

“We talked about taking Miral to the Cochrane Kids’ Museum. How about today? She’s tall enough to ride in the Phoenix simulator.”

Her hand slipped away. “Sorry, Tom, I can't. I’ve got a stack of padds in my office that I need to dive into. See you tomorrow morning.”

The door closed behind her. 

“Bye Kat-Kat,” Miral called. 

“Yeah,” Tom muttered. “Bye.”


	7. Chapter 7

The ambassador was talking. 

Again. 

Kathryn had brought him back to her house on Saturday in hopes he would be more interesting if she had some liquor harder than what had been available at the sweet little restaurant he chose in downtown San Francisco. 

On the walk down her street she’d broken a heel on the sidewalk. The ambassador had pulled a tube of adhesive from his jacket pocket. She’d asked why he was carrying adhesive and, while he mended the shoe under a streetlight, the ambassador told a funny story about needing to reattach his medals after the Bolian ambassador attempted to eat one. 

It was his only funny story. 

She had asked.

Now, on this second date, he was droning on about something — mining agreements, maybe? — and she was trying to look interested. 

“M-hmm,” Kathryn said. 

It was about time for Miral to go to bed. Would Tom sit on the couch by himself? Would his feet be on the coffee table as usual or would he stretch out and put his legs where she usually sat? 

Tom had been working so hard to help his students build their first round of holo-programs. How was that coming?

Miral had transitioned to a toddler bed a few weeks ago. Would she get up claiming she needed something? Or would she stay in bed, hugging her stuffed bunny and babbling into the darkness about the other kids in daycare?

“I’m sorry,” Kathryn said, standing. “I have to go.”

The ambassador stood. “This has been nice. Come out with me again sometime this week?”

Kathryn glanced at the table. The ambassador’s entrée was eaten down to the bones, but Kathryn had barely touched her meal. Her wine was drained, but she had shredded the only roll she’d taken from the bread basket and there were crumbs all over her side of the table. 

“I’ll need to check my schedule,” she said. “Comm me, okay?”

She left without waiting for his reply. 

***

Tom was, in fact, on the couch. 

His feet were on the coffee table.

Her usual spot was empty. 

He had a padd on his lap and he was snoring, his head tilted back at an awkward angle.

Kathryn took off her heels and padded over to Tom. In the dim light, he looked like the teenager she remembered seeing at the Paris home, the one who left a room anytime she entered it. She hadn’t taken it personally. Starfleet business could seem dull, she supposed. But she had noticed.

Then, on _Voyager_, he was the opposite — always wanting her to join in. Sandrine’s. The beach resort. Captain Proton. It was like his personal mission was to get her to be part of things when they both knew damn well a captain was supposed to keep a certain distance. She had replied to one of his invitations with just that explanation and his text-only reply had been: _Sounds like Owen Paris. He’s 70,000 light years away. So, you’ll come shoot pool tonight?_ She’d grinned at the computer terminal in her ready room and agreed to attend for a little while. 

Tom shifted on the couch and his padd clattered to the floor. Kathryn picked it up and put it next to him. Oh, it was tempting to snoop and see what he might be reading. But that would be more entanglement, not less, and she needed to be strong. She would ignore the lips puffing out with every exhalation, the chest she was tempted to lay her head on. The thought of hitching up her dress and straddling him awake, well, that certainly would be unwise, she told herself, even if she couldn’t help the devilish smile that spread across her face at the thought. 

Kathryn tiptoed up the stairs, took a sonic shower, and crawled into bed. She would wait these feelings out. She knew she could. She had done it on _Voyager_ with Chakotay and she had done it on other starships with other crushes. Yes, time would ensure she wouldn’t make this type of mistake — again.

***

Tom hadn’t meant to fall asleep on the couch, yet he was sure he would have woken up when Kathryn came in the front door. Now, with light streaming through the living room windows, he dreaded seeing her stumble in with streaked makeup wearing yesterday’s clothes.

He grabbed his padd and headed up the stairs. 

It was rare for Miral to sleep this late. For the last few weeks, she had been climbing into bed with him around 0200. At least she was quiet about it, usually hugging Tom and then dropping right back down to sleep. She must have gotten better rest than usual. Maybe a growth spurt? He poked his head in her room. 

Miral wasn’t there.

His heart pounding, Tom checked the bathroom and his room. He went to the kitchen. He ran down to the empty basement and up to Kathryn’s attic office. 

Either Miral wasn’t in the house or she was in Kathryn’s room. The door was half open, which was unusual. Kathryn usually closed her door. 

Tom peeked in.

Miral’s stuffed bunny was upside down on the floor. His little girl’s dark, ridged forehead was tipped against Kathryn’s pale, smooth one. They shared one pillow, breathing together, the blanket at their shoulders. 

Tom backed away. _Sleep harmony_, he thought. It was a medical term for when a parent-child pair slept so closely they rebreathed each other’s air. The increase in carbon dioxide led to deeper breaths, which relaxed the body and resulted in longer sleep cycles. 

And the woman who had been avoiding him for close to a week was in sleep harmony with his daughter. 

Part of Tom wanted to climb into bed with them, spooning Kathryn and reaching over her to hold Miral’s hand. Another part of him wanted to wake Kathryn roughly and demand an apology for the way she’d been treating him … then spoon her. 

Tom sat on the floor and pulled out his padd. He closed the real estate listings he’d been perusing. He hadn’t been serious; it was just anger-searching. But now Tom knew that no matter how hurt he was by Kathryn’s recent behavior, he had a responsibility to keep Miral near — Tom hadn’t thought about it this way before — the closest thing she had to a mother. Kathryn didn’t dote on Miral, she wasn’t that type of person, but she replicated Miral new clothes when Miral outgrew the old ones, and, now that Miral was talking, Kathryn paid attention to everything Miral said as if it were of the utmost importance to the safety of the quadrant. When her daycare class got a hamster, Miral’s teacher asked Tom who Kat-Kat was because that’s what Miral had insisted the hamster be named. When Tom prepared for his first workshop at the academy, Kathryn spent a drizzly Sunday in the basement helping Miral learn to ride a hover tricycle, and when Miral started to identify colors, Kathryn hung a dispersive prism on Miral’s bedroom window so, whenever there was sun, Miral could see every color in the rainbow. 

Tom sent a text-only message to the comm address he had looked up a few days before: _Hi. This is Tom Paris. We met a few months ago. Any chance we could get together sometime today?_


	8. Chapter 8

Tom pushed the hover stroller through the leafy park toward the playground. Miral clapped her hands. 

“Yes, Daddy! I love playground time!”

He missed “dada,” but was proud of Miral for becoming such a big girl. She would be ready for Klingon kindergarten in the fall. Human child development seemed slow to Tom in comparison. 

“Not yet, Miral,” he said. “I’m going to go running first and you’re going to ride.”

Miral scrunched her nose and flopped back in her stroller. Earlier that morning, she had sprinted out of Kathryn’s room full of energy. Tom knew she needed to burn it off. He would take her to daycare in the afternoon, but this was more important. 

Tom saw the man he was looking for on the other side of the playground. 

“Hey, Mark!” Tom called. 

Mark turned. His kids were in a double hover stroller. The little one clutched a Flotter doll. The bigger one had a Trevis doll. They waved and Miral waved back. 

“I want a doll, too,” Miral pouted. 

“I don’t have a doll,” Tom said as they reached the running path where Mark was waiting.

“Hi, Tom,” Mark said. “Does Miral do_ The Adventures of Flotter_?”

“Nah,” Tom replied at the same time Miral exclaimed, “I love Flotter and Trevis!”

Tom looked at Miral, confused, but Mark laughed. 

“She must go to daycare. They all learn about it there. Here,” Mark pulled a Stinger doll from the bottom of his kids’ hover stroller, “I don’t know if you’re up to this guy yet, but he’s an important part of the forest ecosystem.”

Miral hugged the Stinger doll. She nodded. “Flotter helps Stinger grow, then Birdie eats Stinger.”

“That’s right!” Mark turned to Tom. “You’ve got a smart girl there, Tom.”

Tom grinned. “Thanks.”

“Is an 8K all right with you?” Mark asked. 

“You’re letting me in on your workout time. I’m up for whatever you usually do.” Tom’s runs were closer to a 5K, but he figured he could keep up. Hopefully. 

The path was shaded by trees and wide enough that, even when walkers or runners came from the other direction, Mark and Tom still could run side by side. As they set off, Mark warned Tom they would loop the playground four times before stopping. Mark’s kids were used to it, but Miral might get upset. Tom thanked Mark for the tip.

“So, what did you want to talk to me about?” Mark asked as they rounded the first turn. 

“Well,” Tom began, “it’s about Kathryn.”

“Kat-Kat!” Miral exclaimed. Trees streaked past her stroller and she laughed. 

“Miral, I’m going to put up your privacy screen.” Tom said. “Do you want to listen to birds or music?”

“Music!” Miral replied. “Klingon opera!”

“You’ve got it.” Tom tapped a command and the stroller’s force field and speakers snapped on. Miral sang along, unable to hear anything else. Tom sped up. Mark’s pace was faster than what Tom was used to and the flat path was different from the ups and downs of San Francisco running.

“What about Kath?” Mark’s hands were clenched on his stroller. His kids giggled as they played Flotter and Trevis.

“She’s fine,” Tom said and Mark’s grip loosened. “I just think she’s mad at me and I want to get back in her good graces.”

“What does that have to do with me?” Mark asked. 

Tom didn’t know the guy well, but Mark’s question made a lot more sense than Tom had considered. 

“I, ah, figured you know her better,” Tom explained as they rounded a curve. “So I was hoping you could help me out. I want to be her friend again and, uh, maybe more.” He felt heat on his cheeks and neck.

“Whoa, Tom.” Mark held up one hand. “I’m not going to tell you anything Kath would consider private, and I’m certainly not going to give you some sort of guidebook to her heart.”

Tom was sweating. He felt the conversation slipping away from him. 

“It’s not like that!” he insisted. “I think she does like me. She just … just suddenly stopped talking to me.”

Tom’s shoes kept smacking the path, but he felt like he had stuffed at least one foot in his mouth. He also was concerned his lungs would explode if he kept trying to run as fast as Mark did. 

“Sounds like you know what your problem is,” Mark said. “You just need to figure out how to solve it.”

“That’s why ... I’m talking … to you,” Tom panted. “For research.”

Mark slowed his pace. Tom was too embarrassed — and too winded — to thank him. They came around another turn.

“I used to be pretty good at this stuff,” Tom added when he caught his breath. “But seven years in space with just 150 people does a number on your interpersonal skills.”

Mark made a noncommittal grunt. 

“Oh, yeah, well you knew that,” Tom babbled. “She said you were helping her. Here’s the thing. You did help her. Kathryn was talking with me, really talking with me, and we were having fun together and then she stopped and I don’t know what I did wrong.”

“Focus on the known quantity, not the variable,” Mark snapped. 

“What?”

Mark rolled his eyes and Tom understood how Mark and Kathryn had been compatible. 

“You,” Mark said. “You’re the quantity you know. What do you bring to a relationship that could overcome any hesitation she may be feeling?”

Tom bit back a smart remark about his boyish charm.

“I, uh,” he stammered. “I’m … um …” 

Mark looked pained. Tom was dizzy and slightly nauseous. 

“I tell you what, Tom,” Mark’s eyes slid to the exercise tracker built into his kids’ stroller, “you think it through, walk it out, and I’ll run on ahead and catch up with you when I loop around. Okay?”

Tom nodded miserably. Mark surged ahead, turned the hover stroller into the next curve, and disappeared.

As Tom walked, his hands tight on Miral’s stroller, he thought over the last almost-seven months. He’d been ready to raise his daughter in a bare-bones Starfleet apartment when Kathryn opened her home to them. He’d been a mess and Kathryn basically ordered him to the counseling that helped him learn how to cope with losing B’Elanna. He’d been ready to try for a decent job at a holo-programming studio and Kathryn pointed him toward the best job he’d ever had. 

Miral belted out a Klingon aria as Tom plodded ahead. A slight wind hit him and he inhaled deeply. 

Tom kept thinking. He had helped Kathryn with the shuttle idea for science missions. He’d watched her light up talking to Admiral Hendricks about the early space program. They had reminisced about their academy days. Oh, and she would tell him about her day at work and he would help her explore her feelings about things. 

All right, Tom was ready for Mark to return. Soon enough, he did. 

“I’ve got it,” Tom picked up his pace and rattled off his list of accomplishments. 

“That’s a start — for an office romance,” Mark said. “What do you know about her outside of her job?”

“She likes to drink a cup of coffee before she puts on her uniform in the morning. She can spend an hour in the bathtub. She hates replicators, but hates cooking more. She’s great with kids, but doesn’t understand why they love her so much.”

“Good, good,” Mark nodded. “Does she like rainy weather or sunny?”

“Uh …”

“Why are the stars so important to her?”

“I, uh ...”

“What’s her favorite book?”

“These are trivia questions!” Tom spluttered. “I haven’t known her for more than thirty years like you have.”

“Fair enough,” Mark said as they rounded a curve. “But these are things you should want to know. Look, Kath told me you two talked a little about Justin. So you know why she’s tentative about this kind of thing. Since the situation has enough differences —”

Tom stumbled. He leaned on Miral’s stroller for support and Mark slowed for him. 

“What do you mean ‘tentative about this kind of thing’?” Tom asked.

Mark cursed. Tom kept his legs pumping as he listened to his own gulps for air, Miral’s singing, and Mark’s kids playing. Finally, Mark said, “I thought you knew. I won’t violate her privacy, Tom, but I do think it’s fair for me to tell you a few things from my perspective.”

Tom was delighted to listen to Mark talk, and not just so Tom could have a better chance at keeping up with the run.

“First,” Mark held up a finger while the other hand held the fast-moving hover stroller, “Phoebe will tell anyone who will listen how much she disliked Justin. Keep that in mind. Second, Kath didn’t exactly fall for me or Justin at first sight. She needs to warm up to people. Third, if you want her to see you as boyfriend material, sitting at home chatting about Starfleet with her on her couch isn’t going to do it. Be more than Starfleet to her if you want her to be more than Starfleet to you.”

With a surge of energy, Tom leaned into the run.

“Wow,” he said. “You know your stuff.”

“Kath’s my best friend,” Mark said firmly. “I want her to be happy. If that’s with you, fine. If not, I’ll talk to the next person in line.”

Tom felt both slapped and vindicated. Clearly, Mark wouldn’t bother to talk to him if there wasn’t some hope, but Mark wasn’t sugar-coating anything. Thank goodness Mark was with Carla now because Tom could see how Mark and Kathryn had been perfect for each other. 

“So, if the couch won’t do it,” Tom said, “what will?”

Mark grinned. “Tom, I’m going to take another loop. You think on that and tell me the answer when I get back.”

Mark rounded a curve and was gone, his kids’ shouts about Flotter and Trevis lingering for a second longer. 

Tom pulled up his shirt and rubbed his sweaty face on it. 

All right, so Mark’s latest challenge seemed to be about how to get a woman interested. Tom had been with quite a few women, but he thought specifically about B’Elanna. She had taken time to warm up to him, too. So, he’d asked her out on … dates! Kathryn had gone on a date and Tom had been jealous, but he’d never even asked her out. He also knew Kathryn loved flowers, saw her delight in the ones Boothby gave her, but Tom had never gotten her a bouquet. His hand slipped a little when he smacked his own damp forehead. 

“Courtship!” Tom declared when Mark came around again. Tom sped up to be in step with him. “I need to get her flowers and take her out.”

“Very good.” Mark nodded. “And without Miral. She’s adorable, but you want Kath to care for you, not you and your plus one.”

“That’s it!” Tom nearly jumped forward. “‘Plus one.’ That’s when Kathryn started shutting me out. When I asked her if she wanted to go with me to a _Voyager_ wedding.”

“A semi-date in front of her crew?” Mark sucked in air through his teeth. “Too much, too soon, my friend.”

Tom grinned at Mark calling him “friend.” It wasn’t just because Mark’s approval probably would be important to Kathryn. Tom found himself honestly liking this straight shooter who seemed to know so much. 

They rounded another curve. 

“Hey, Mark,” Tom said. “My wife died nearly seven months ago. Why aren’t you asking me about that?”

“Not my business, Tom.” Mark blotted sweat from his brow. “Not my business.”

They finished their run in silence, then let the kids loose on the playground. Mark had an extra water bottle and he passed it to Tom who took it gratefully. 

“Three months.” Mark’s eyes were on his kids fighting over a teeter-totter. 

“Excuse me?” Tom wiped water from his mouth. 

“It took me years to believe Kath was dead. But, once I came to terms with it, I started dating Carla three months later. I don’t regret it, either. I would have been happy with Kath, but I love having a wife who geeks out on philosophy with me and who got to know me as an adult, not some awkward kid.”

“Whoa,” Tom said. 

“Don’t let anyone make you uncomfortable about your choices.”

“Thanks, Mark. That means a lot to me.”

The kids played for a while longer, shrieking and running, then Mark said he had to get ready to go to work. Tom stuck his hand out and Mark shook it. 

“Any last words of advice?” Tom asked.

One side of Mark’s mouth curled exactly the same way Kathryn’s did when she was about to take pity on some poor sap by delivering mind-blowingly good information. 

“Dancing,” Mark said. “Take her dancing.”


	9. Chapter 9

“That’s a bullshit excuse,” Mark said. He and Kathryn were waiting for their coffees. They always met at the little shop a block away from Mark’s work. It was old-fashioned, with hardwood tables, leather chairs, and a smoky coffee smell that settled into fabrics and hair. The baristas had gotten to know them over the last few months, so Mark and Kathryn could just walk in and stand by the pickup counter and someone would bring their orders a few minutes later. 

It hadn’t yet been a few minutes.

“It’s not a bullshit excuse,” Kathryn hissed. “I didn’t know he liked me back. I never should have become so close with a former member of my crew but he’s such a damn charmer. I let myself get too comfortable and now it’s a mess. Thank you.” The last two words were to the barista who handed Kathryn two tall mugs of coffee. 

Kathryn stomped over to their usual table, a steaming mug in each hand, and Mark followed. 

“You want to talk about a mess?” he challenged as he slid into his chair. “A mess is when someone likes you and you like them, but you think there's something wrong. A mess is rejecting someone based on an outdated label. A mess is —” 

“Stop,” Kathryn ordered, holding up a hand. “Coffee.”

Mouths curled against mugs and they sipped.

Shoulders relaxed.

Heads bobbed.

Breaths came out in a grateful sigh. 

Then Kathryn made a face and Mark swapped the mugs.

“You and your chicory,” she grumbled. 

“Chicory is good stuff,” Mark defended, drinking some of his own coffee to prove it. 

She rolled her eyes.

“Anyway,” Mark said. “I’m just suggesting you be open to the possibility. Stop with the passive-aggressive crap.”

“It’s not passive-aggressive!” Kathryn took an energetic gulp of her own coffee. No goddamn chicory. “I’m not trying to make him mad. I’m trying to solve the problem.”

“The problem? That you look forward all day to talking with him? That you think his daughter is adorable? That he wants to get to know you better? Help me out here, Kath — there’s so many problems, I can’t keep them straight.”

“Sarcasm is unattractive,” she snapped. 

He shrugged. “I know.”

They smirked at each other. 

“Hey,” she leaned forward. “Remember the time —”

“I sure do.” Mark grinned. “It was a great vacation until you practically got us killed.”

“But, I didn’t and the Ferengi gave us a discount for our trouble!” Kathryn raised her coffee mug in honor of their long-ago adventure and Mark chortled. “I’ve got to go back there someday,” she said. 

“Any updates on that?”

“No.” She jostled her mug slightly and watched the liquid inside form a small whirlpool. “Starfleet won’t even discuss scheduling another psych test.”

Mark put his coffee down, his face serious. “Kath, I know it was a tough seven years and I know you got slammed right into an admiralty reeling from the Dominion War … but you deserve to be happy. Will you please think about what — or who — might make you happy?”

She bit her bottom lip. “Okay.”

She and Mark chatted about some of his projects at work, his kids and Carla, and a new tennis racquet Phoebe told him about that was supposed to transfer power better on the backhand. 

“I just ...” Kathryn mumbled into her coffee mug, “I just don’t want to make the same mistake again — in reverse.”

“You won’t,” Mark promised.

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because, from what you told me, when you were worried about making the mistake out there with your first officer, you never even talked to him about it. You’re thinking about telling Tom. I know you are.”

She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. The woodgrain of the table suddenly became fascinating and she studied it intently, her not-quite-empty mug held tightly to her chest. 

“I’ll tell Tom if it gets to that point,” she finally declared. “Are you satisfied?”

“This isn’t about me.” Mark pulled Kathryn’s coffee mug from her grip. She frowned at him. “This is about what’s best for you, Kath. Make your own decision. Tell him or don’t tell him. Just don’t run away like a Zevian bunny rabbit.”

Her chin rose. “I beat the Borg, you know. Many times.” 

“I know,” Mark smiled. “You’re very brave on a starship. I’m suggesting you be brave here, too. Do you believe me when I say no matter what happens with Tom that you learned from what happened with Justin? That you won’t let anything like it happen again?”

“I don’t not believe you.” Kathryn’s half-grin was rueful. 

“Ah, the old double-negative.” Mark handed her mug back. “I’ll take it.”

Kathryn finished her coffee and stood to leave. Mark stood, too, grabbing their empty mugs to recycle.

“Has anyone ever told you if this philosophy thing doesn’t work out you could be an excellent ship’s counselor?” she asked as they pushed out the door. 

“Many times,” Mark replied. “I missed hearing it for about seven years, but it’s good to hear it again.”

They hugged briefly, chastely, then she tapped her commbage and requested a beam-out back to headquarters. She shimmered and was gone. 

***

That night, when Kathryn got home, she changed out of her uniform and sat at the dinner table with Tom and Miral. Though Miral clapped her hands and said, “I missed dinner with you, Kat-Kat. I need to tell you about the hamster at daycare,” Tom, wisely, acted as if there had been no interruption to their routine. 

After dinner, Kathryn told Tom she needed to do some work in her attic office. He said he understood. She kept that up for the next couple of nights, until one evening she drifted to the couch after dinner. Tom sat next to her after he put Miral to bed. He didn’t ask Kathryn to talk, though. He just read his padd. 

Kathryn had been looking at Tom as little as possible, talking to Miral more at dinner than him. But, as she read the same report a third time, all she could focus on was Tom’s natural, slightly earthy smell. He took a breath and a half to her every two breaths. His one hand was on his padd and the other held the back of his neck and his hands looked strong and —

She turned to him. “Got a minute?”

“For you,” he laid down his padd, “I have a thousand minutes.”

Her face felt warm. 

“I’m sorry I disappeared for a little while there,” Kathryn said. “I won’t do that again.”

“Thanks,” he replied, and held her hand. 

He picked up his padd again and she picked up hers, but they kept holding hands.

The next afternoon, a Thursday, Kathryn sent Tom a text-only message: _Replicator for dinner or takeout from the Andorian place on Market Street?_

An hour later, he replied: _Got a babysitter — Miral’s daycare teacher. I’ll meet you at the restaurant at 1800. Okay?_

With tingles under her breastbone, she typed, _Okay._

When she walked up to the restaurant, Tom was waiting outside. A Starfleet-issue duffel bag hung from his shoulder. 

“What’s with the bag?” she asked. 

“Hello, it’s good to see you, too,” he smiled. “This is for after dinner. I’ll explain then.”

“All right,” she said, the tingles returning. 

He pulled out her chair for her. Tom usually was enthusiastic about his food, but they both picked at their meals. He asked how her day had been. She said all right, that she had seen his father and he looked well. She asked how classes were going. Tom said fine, but he was having trouble getting cadets to appreciate the artistry of holo-coding. She was about to suggest a possible solution when Tom said he’d heard from Harry and could Harry stay with them the night before and the night after Chakotay and Seven’s wedding. Tom would replicate an adult-sized bed for Miral’s room and Miral could sleep with Tom. 

“Sure,” Kathryn replied. “It will be nice to see Harry.”

Neither Kathryn nor Tom mentioned Tom’s idea that the two of them attend the wedding together. 

Tom asked what kinds of books she liked to read, why she chose the science track at the academy, what she liked about Velocity. Kathryn answered his questions and asked questions of her own. They were laughing over the realization they both had been at the Parisses Squares Championship Finals of 2366 when Admiral Hayes stopped by the table. They rose, but he shooed them down. 

“Admiral Janeway,” he said, “I thought that was you. I just finished a working dinner with Admiral Nechayev and we read your report regarding activity in sector 010. We want you to present at tomorrow’s morning briefing.”

“Yes, sir!” Kathryn said. “I’d be delighted.”

“Very good.” Admiral Hayes gave a curt nod. “Glad to have seen you. Saved me a comm call. Good to see you, too, Dom.”

After the admiral walked away, Tom groused, “That guy has worked with my dad for thirty years. I don’t think he’s ever gotten my name right.”

“Tom,” Kathryn cleared her throat, “I’ve never presented at the flag officers’ morning briefing before. I need to prepare.”

They walked home. She thought about reaching for his hand and he thought about reaching for hers. Their fingers twitched, but neither made the move.

At the front door, Tom shifted the duffel bag so he could unzip it. “I know you have to go upstairs to work and I know the tradition is to give these at the start of the evening, but San Francisco can feel like one big headquarters as evidenced by Admiral _Mayes_,” Tom purposefully mispronounced the name and Kathryn smirked, “so, here.”

He pulled out a big bouquet of red roses and handed them to her with a flourish. 

“They’re real, not replicated,” he added. 

“I can tell. They’re lovely.” Kathryn stroked a soft petal with a fingertip. “Thank you.”

Her smile was sad, though, and Tom was confused.

“Did I do the wrong thing?” he blurted out. 

“No.” She looked up from the bouquet into his blue eyes. “You did the exact right thing.”

He wanted to kiss her. Like, a real kiss on the lips. But he hesitated and she was up two flights of stairs before Tom realized what happened. 


	10. Chapter 10

_How did your presentation go? _

Kathryn grinned and replied to Tom’s text-only message. _Like riding a hover bike. Felt like the old days in _Voyager’s _briefing room. _

A few minutes later, her screen lit up again. _Want to celebrate? I can get Miral’s teacher to babysit again. _

Tom’s celebrations usually meant food, but Kathryn decided if she had a light lunch she could join him for whatever he had in mind for dinner. 

_Sure_, she replied. _Where?_

_That will be a surprise. Meet me at my office at 1800? I’ll have choices programmed into the replicator for something for you to wear. _

All day at her job, Kathryn gave and received orders. So, in a romantic relationship, she wanted to get away from all that. She wanted an equal. Kathryn liked that Tom’s message asked her, not told her, when and where to meet. She liked that she’d suggested yesterday’s restaurant and he had something in mind for tonight.

_See you then, Tom. Have a good day. _

***

The dress was sleeveless. It had a scoop neck and just the right amount of tight on top flowing into a skirt that swirled. The whole thing felt like cotton but moved like chiffon and it was sapphire blue. The waistband had a hidden pocket for her commbadge. The shoes were silver with just a two-inch heel. Kathryn was used to higher heels, but Tom had recommended these and she took his advice.

“Wow,” he said when she came out of his office.

“Wow, yourself,” she replied. Tom’s dark grey shirt hugged his chest and tapered to his waist. It had short sleeves, but his pants were long. He turned and she mouthed “wow” again at his rear end.

When Tom had mentioned replicating clothing, Kathryn figured they would go to dinner in a holodeck. She hadn’t been in a holodeck since _Voyager_. She would humor Tom, but it wasn’t her first choice to celebrate a real-life accomplishment with photons and force fields. But, instead of turning toward the academy’s holodecks, Tom led Kathryn the other way.

“Are you allowed to go in a shuttle, even if it doesn’t go off-world?” 

She shook her head. “I’m not cleared to go above Earth’s mesosphere.”

They both knew Starfleet shuttles flew in the thermosphere. The lower levels were for civilian transit.

“What if we flew at the very top of the mesosphere, 85 kilometers up?” Tom asked. “Nobody flies there.”

“Nobody flies there because it’s a rough ride,” Kathryn pointed out. 

“Fortunately, you know a fantastic pilot. What do you say?” Tom held out his hand.

Kathryn’s grounding followed a psych test Starfleet made her take a week after _Voyager_ got home. She knew her mental state had improved since then, but, even if she retook the psych test, Kathryn didn’t think she would pass it. Not yet, anyway. Seven years couldn’t be undone in eleven months. No point in teasing herself by getting close to space but not being able to fly into it.

“Better not,” she demurred, and Tom lowered his hand. 

He led her to an academy transporter room. 

“Professor Paris!” The cadet on duty snapped to attention. Kathryn tried to hide her snicker behind a cough. 

“Cadet Larkin.” Tom clapped the young man on the back. “How did that weapons test go?”

“Very well, sir,” the cadet replied. “Thank you for your help on the range.”

“My pleasure,” Tom said. 

It was against protocol to recognize a lieutenant commander before an admiral. Kathryn waited for the cadet to apologize. When he didn’t, she realized he had no idea who she was. She smoothed her skirt, grinning.

Tom gave the cadet coordinates and said to await instructions for beaming back.

“Those coordinates are in Nome, Alaska, aren’t they?” Kathryn whispered as they walked toward the transporter pad. “That’s a real party town.”

“It sure is.” Tom winked.

They materialized in front of a massive, five-story building. It was cold, but all the windows were open and music poured out in an unintelligible cacophony. Purple spotlights made dizzying patterns in the dark sky and people from an array of species moved toward the building from transporter pads or the shuttle parking area. Tom held Kathryn by the waist. He shouted into her ear so she could hear him.

“Floors one and two are Earth; floors three and four are other Federation planets.” He pointed as he moved up the building. “Floor five is unfriendly territory — Romulan, Breen, Dominion. Every floor is divided into rooms with different styles.”

“Concerts?” Kathryn yelled back, her breath visible in the chilly air. 

“No,” Tom yelled. “Dance floors.”

She grabbed his hand and ran for the door.

***

The room was spinning in the best way. 

Tom had been pretty useless at the tango, but they had lindy hopped and sambaed. Kathryn hadn’t enjoyed the polka, so Tom had whisked her off to do the hustle, which was great. The Irish céilí was fun, but it brought to mind the last time she had danced — two and a half years ago in the Fair Haven simulation on _Voyager _— so Kathryn had pulled Tom onward. They did a Betazoid belly dance, tried Tellarite hip-hop, managed a Trill merengue, and more. Tom had dipped her, pulled her close, moved right up against her. Her body felt slinky and smooth. At least, it had. She couldn’t really feel anything anymore thanks to dancing and drinks that weren’t synthehol.

Tom was trying to tell her something, but all she could hear was music. Everyone around them was dancing. It was like being part of a big, beautiful life form made of energy and rhythm.

Anyway, Tom. His lips were moving. Pretty lips. Sort of thick on the bottom and thin on top. His nose was so straight. He must have had it repaired after more than one bar fight. She would have loved to have been his co-pilot in those days. His blond hair glowed a little in the blue light as they danced closer to the entrance to the Bajoran room. It sounded like a zydeco in there. Kathryn took his hand so they could try it, but Tom pulled her in the other direction and then down, down, down the stairs.

They were out of the building, the cool air sharp on the sweat-dampened hair against her neck and around her ears.

“... until 0300 …” Tom was shouting. He pulled his commbadge from his pocket and tapped it. Kathryn wanted to say wait, stop, but he looked at her apologetically and held the commbadge close to his mouth and yelled into it.

The transporter beam tore them from the crisp Nome night to her damp backyard in San Francisco. 

Kathryn swayed slightly as her heels dipped into the dirt.

“I’m sorry.” Tom spoke directly into her ear. His breath was warm and it tickled. “I only have the babysitter until 0300. She has a dinner in Mumbai and she needs to get to her transport shuttle.”

Kathryn patted his hand. She would say she understood, but she only followed part of what he’d said. Something about the babysitter?

Tom walked Kathryn to the kitchen. He eased her into a chair, then went to the living room. She heard his voice and the babysitter’s voice and the babysitter leaving from the front door. It seemed funny, somehow, and Kathryn chuckled. 

Tom came back and replicated her two pieces of toast. Kathryn hadn’t realized she was hungry. She didn’t get hungry often, so this was nice. Oh, and this was good toast. Damn good toast. Probably the best toast she had ever eaten. She licked the crumbs off her fingers.

“You had Champagne, two Risan mai-tais, three Skagarian whiskeys, Bajoran ale, and a Ktarian beer.” Tom counted on his fingers. “Did I miss anything?” 

The giggles bubbled from Kathryn’s stomach. Her head tipped back and she slipped forward a little in her seat, her skirt hanging between her legs. Oh, everything was so wonderful right now.

“We had all the same things,” Tom teased. “I thought you could hold your liquor better than that.”

“Skipped breakfast.” She handed him the empty toast plate and he recycled it. “Forgot to eat lunch. Dance endorphins are a scientific fact. I’m not that drunk.” This last sentence struck her as hilarious, and she laughed so hard she had to lay her head on the table. Oh, the table felt good. Why had she never realized the luxurious comfort of this kitchen table? 

“Okay, then.” Tom was happy, but not sloppy. He had never seen Kathryn sloppy. He kind of liked it but didn’t know how she would feel about it in the morning. “I’ll help you upstairs. The babysitter said Miral moved to my bed at 0200. I don’t want to disturb her, so I’ll sleep on the couch. If you need me, you can comm me.”

“Thank you for taking me dancing,” Kathryn said as Tom pulled her from her chair. 

“I had a little help,” Tom admitted on their walk toward the stairs. “Mark suggested it would be something you’d like.”

“Mark!” Kathryn hummed. “I loved him. I don’t anymore, but I did for a really long time.”

Halfway up the stairs, Kathryn stopped. She held Tom’s shoulder for balance as she pulled off one shoe, then the other, and handed them to him.

“Tom,” she patted his cheek, “you can sleep in my bed tonight.”

“I’m not going to take advantage of you, Kathryn.” No matter how beautiful she looked in that dress with her skin dewy and her hair tousled, no matter how loose he felt from his own alcohol and exertion, Tom Paris wasn’t stupid. “You’ve had a lot to drink —”

“For chrissakes,” she stumbled slightly, “I’m not going to fuck you. I’m not even going to kiss you. I’m just saying a bed beats a couch.”

Tom had never heard her curse like that before and he found it incredibly sexy.

“I accept,” he said. 


	11. Chapter 11

Kathryn woke up with a foot in her face. 

“Miral, sweetheart,” she whispered. “Move your foot.”

“I can’t,” Miral whispered back. “Daddy’s in the way.”

When she was in the academy, Kathryn sometimes envied her friends who got blackout drunk. But, over time, she had learned to appreciate her ability to remember everything with perfect clarity. 

She’d kept her word. She hadn’t had sex with Tom. She hadn’t kissed him, either. But, despite falling asleep on opposite sides of the bed, she now was on his side with her back against his chest and stomach. Her legs were curled up with his. His arm was around her waist and she could feel his breath on her hair. Miral was in the narrow space between the pillows and the headboard. Lines of light leaked from the sides and bottom of the window shades, but the room, thankfully, was mostly dark.

“Miral,” Kathryn whispered again, “do you think you can go back to sleep?”

“Okay,” Miral said. 

“Okay,” Kathryn agreed. She snuggled against Tom and closed her eyes. 

***

Tom woke up to a finger in his eye and a voice whining, loudly and clearly, “Daddy, I’m hungry.”

“Yes,” he muttered. “I’ll help you.”

If this were his crappy apartment in France a dozen years ago, Tom would have had no idea what happened the night before. But now he remembered a wonderful evening out, a delightfully drunk Kathryn, and slipping into her bed feeling warm all over. 

He didn’t know when she’d made her way over to his side, but he loved the feel of her body against his, just thin fabric between them and the blanket cocooning them both. He inhaled her lavender smell and sighed softly.

“Miral,” he murmured. “Do you know how to ask the replicator for banana pancakes?”

“Yes.”

“Go do that and bring them here to eat quietly while you look at one of your picture books,” he instructed. “I’m giving you special permission to take food upstairs.”

Miral scrambled out of bed and Tom listened as she replicated the pancakes, stopped in her room to get a book, and brought everything into Kathryn’s room. If she choked on her food or had a problem, Miral could alert him.

In the meantime, Tom squeezed Kathryn gently and let his eyes drift closed. 

***

Tom and Kathryn woke up to Miral jumping on the bed. 

“Are you two going to sleep all day?” she asked, her hair billowing with each downward movement. 

“Not anymore,” Tom grunted. “Miral, if you get your clothes, I’ll help you get dressed and we’ll play slide in the backyard.”

When Miral scampered out of the room, Kathryn rolled to face Tom. Her hip brushed against his groin and he wasn’t sure whether to hope she did or didn’t notice how hard he was.

“So,” she smirked, her eyes steady as she blinked off sleep, “now you’ve seen me drunk.” 

“You’re not hungover?” Tom’s fingers trailed across her temple as he tucked hair that had fallen into her face behind her ear. “I thought for sure you’d be hungover.”

“I don’t really get hangovers,” Kathryn said. “I will say I usually get a stomachache after drinking without having eaten enough, but someone very thoughtful replicated me toast.”

He kissed her forehead. He did it without thinking and he didn’t let his lips linger. But Tom felt Kathryn press against him and he knew it was all right.

“Tom,” she said. “Don’t tell Harry.”

“Don’t tell Harry what?”

She kissed him.

***

They spent what was left of the day trying to tire out Miral so she would sleep that night. Tom put her down an hour later than usual and she still got up three times before falling asleep. 

Kathryn was waiting for him on the couch. 

“Here’s what’s not going to change,” she said, her arms folded across her chest. “We’re still going to talk about B’Elanna. You loved her and she’ll always be Miral’s mother and I had the utmost respect for her. 

“You and I won’t touch in any kind of familiar way on Starfleet property. We both grew up with parents who conducted themselves appropriately for our fathers’ ranks. That’s the model.

“I still need to work for an hour or so most evenings. My job is demanding and I like it that way. I could stay later at HQ and miss dinner, but I’d rather have that time with you and Miral. 

“As far as —”

“Wait a minute.” Tom sat next to her. “A week ago you would barely look at me and now you’re dictating terms. Slow down.”

Kathryn turned to face him. “I apologize,” she said. “You’re right.”

Tom hadn’t expected that. 

“I could pretend not to accept your apology.” He took her hand and kissed it. “Or,” he kissed her cheek, “I could argue some of your terms even though I agree with them.”

“Or?” 

“Or this.” He licked her bottom lip and her low chuckle flowed into him. Heads tilted, tongues slid, and her fingertips grazed the soft skin at the back of his neck. Life was sensation and movement, hot breath and warm bodies through too many clothes. 

Tom snaked his arm under the back of Kathryn’s shirt to unfasten her bra. He felt her help him, wriggle in that way women do when they want to give access, but then, just as his fingers touched the clasp, she scooted away. 

“Wait.” Kathryn’s hand gripped the couch to steady herself. “I just … wait.”

They both were breathing heavily, but she recovered faster.

“Tom, have you ever heard of the halo effect?” He shook his head. “It’s when someone knows another person in one way and lets that judgment affect appraisals of other aspects of the person.”

Tom kissed Kathryn’s furrowed forehead. “Do you always interrupt make-out sessions with pop quizzes?”

“Sometimes.” She half-grinned.

“Great study technique. I promise not to tell the other professors at the academy.” He leaned in to kiss her again, but her body stiffened. “I’m sorry,” Tom pulled away. “You were trying to tell me something.”

“It’s just,” Kathryn bit her bottom lip, “he didn’t like dogs. I was engaged to him and I didn’t even know he didn’t like dogs. It was my first mission and he was my superior officer and I thought I had some sort of deep understanding of him when I really knew next to nothing.”

“Justin?” 

Kathryn nodded. “I read his service record when I was in Command School and realized I’d loved an idea, not a person. I knew protocol dissuaded dating up or down the chain of command, and in that moment I understood why. People can have an idealized view of their commanding officer or an unrealistic view of their subordinate that can last even after the mission is over.”

“And yet my favorite memories with you have nothing to do with _Voyager_,” Tom said, his hands moving to her shoulders. “My favorite memories with you are when you got that chocolate on your lip in Berlin and when you danced right up against me in Nome.”

“My favorite memories with you are when we were laughing at the Night Owl and when you made me the toast,” Kathryn admitted.

“I got a new favorite memory this morning when we woke up together and another one a few minutes ago when we were kissing.” Tom laced his fingers with hers. “I want to make more memories with you, Kathryn. But are you telling me you don’t want to be with me because you were once my commanding officer and I was once your subordinate?”

“No,” she said, her hands shaking a little. “I’m telling you why I’ve been so damn nervous about giving this a try.”


	12. Chapter 12

“Uncle Harry’s here!” Miral yelled from her lookout post by one of the living room windows. Tom had let her stay up late as they waited for Harry to arrive. 

Kathryn hurried down from her third floor office. Tom ran up from the basement. He had asked Kathryn a few days before if he could make some changes to the large, empty room and she had shrugged and said sure. He’d banned her from the area until he finished.

“Harry!” Tom opened the door with one hand and pulled his friend into a hug with the other. Miral joined in. She knew Harry from subspace calls and was excited for his visit. 

“Lieutenant Kim,” Kathryn called. “It’s good to see you.”

“Good to see you too, ma’am,” Harry said. 

Tom waited for her to say she didn’t want to be called “ma’am” in her own home, but she just stepped in once Tom finished hugging Harry for her turn to embrace her former operations officer. 

“How are things on the _Tivoli_?” 

“Excellent,” Harry replied. “I like Captain Lavelle, but I’d work with you again in a second, Admiral.”

“You’re kind, Harry.” She patted his forearm. “But you’re doing great work out there in the Beta Quadrant. You just can’t seem to stay in your own quadrant, can you?”

“No, ma’am.” He grinned and picked up Miral. She had been holding up her arms and stomping her feet trying to get Harry’s attention. “My girlfriend is from Earth and she wanted to come but she couldn’t get leave. She’s the ship’s security chief.”

“That’s wonderful, Harry. I want to hear more about her once you get settled.” Kathryn moved toward the stairs. “I have work waiting for me in my office — though I may peruse her personnel file before I do anything else.”

Harry blushed.

“Security chief, huh? If only Tuvok had known he was your type,” Tom teased. “I’ll carry your bag upstairs since you’ve got Miral.”

“Oh, there’s precious cargo in that bag,” Harry said. “I snagged you five ration packs — all number eight, your favorite.”

“Rations,” Tom moaned as they climbed the stairs. “Now that’s something I didn’t miss.”

“No food upstairs,” Miral scolded from Harry’s arms. 

“That’s right, Miral, but we’ll give Uncle Harry special permission, okay?”

“Okay, Daddy,” she said. “Like when you and Kat-Kat snuggled in bed until really late in the morning.”

Tom’s throat went dry and he nearly dropped Harry’s bag. 

“Who’s Kat-Kat?” Harry asked as they walked into Miral’s room. 

“Miral’s class hamster,” Tom said. “Tell Uncle Harry about the hamster, Miral.”

She was only too happy to tell Harry everything about the hamster and, by the time she was done, Harry looked like he would never, ever, ask another question about Kat-Kat. 

***

“Why are you going to this thing, Harry?” Tom asked the next morning. “I mean, I get why you’re going to the _Voyager_ homecoming anniversary, but why are you going to the wedding? You weren’t exactly friends with Chakotay and things didn't turn out with Seven the way you wanted them to.”

They were fastening their dress uniform tunics in Tom and Miral’s bathroom. The homecoming event was in the late morning and Kathryn had left a padd on the kitchen table with a note saying she would see them there. With the wedding starting in the early evening, it would be a hectic day for everyone in the house but especially for Kathryn. Tom assumed that meant she hadn’t slept. Even Miral, a considerate bed-sharer for her age, had tossed and turned in Tom’s bed as Tom tried to dodge her elbows and knees.

“I wanted to be at the anniversary.” Harry pushed one rank pip and then another into his collar. “That made the wedding convenient, and why not? I’m happy for them.”

Miral stood in the doorway in her yellow dress. A few days ago, Kathryn had asked Tom what he thought about Miral wearing yellow as a tribute to B’Elanna’s gold-shouldered uniform. Tom had hugged Kathryn and said it would be perfect. 

“Let’s _go_.” Miral stretched the one syllable into three. “We can’t be late to my birthday anniversary or my birthday wedding!”

The homecoming event was a brunch. As everyone else ate, there were speeches from Tom’s father, Reg Barclay, Chakotay, and Kathryn. 

“I am so proud,” she said from the dais, “of this crew, of this family. We have gone from having only each other, alone, in the Delta Quadrant, to having all the people and resources of the Alpha Quadrant, yet we have continued to support each other, to care for each other. Though we had some close calls: the Kazon, the Hirogen, the Borg — present company excluded,” she addressed Seven as the crowd chuckled, “we have proven the _Voyager_ family endures with dignity and strength.”

There was applause. Tom clapped the hardest. She hadn’t let him see her remarks. 

“Since we emerged from that Borg sphere a year ago, we have lost one of our own,” Kathryn continued. “Lieutenant Commander B’Elanna Torres died with honor in the line of duty. We close with a moment of silence in her memory.”

Heads bowed.

“That’s my mommy,” Miral whispered. Tom lifted her from her chair onto his lap and held her close. Harry put his hand on Tom’s shoulder. 

***

Tom hadn’t expected the anniversary to be so intense. 

After the speeches, everyone seemed to have a B’Elanna story to share with him. People asked why there hadn’t been a funeral and Tom explained over and over that Klingon customs didn’t call for a memorial after an honorable death. Though his former shipmates meant well, Miral began to hide under a chair or behind Tom’s legs when she heard yet again that she looked just like her mother. Finally, Harry picked up Miral and yanked Tom out of the room. 

“Go back, Harry,” Tom said. “You wanted to be there. I’ll catch up with you at the wedding.”

“Are you going to be all right?” Harry asked, handing Miral to Tom. 

“Yeah,” Tom breathed. “But thanks.”

He took Miral to a playground. He sat on a bench and watched her on a swing, the skirt of her yellow dress fluttering as her legs pumped her in arcs back and forth. Tom had seen pictures of B’Elanna when she was Miral’s age. The physical resemblance went beyond the forehead ridges. But Miral was easygoing, like Tom, and she had an innate happiness. Miral had deep feelings like her mother, but, by discussing daycare happenings with the same attentiveness she would bring to a first contact situation, Kathryn helped Miral feel important where John Torres made B’Elanna feel like an embarrassment. 

Things may not have gone as planned, but Tom, once again, felt like a lucky guy.

His mind turned to Kathryn. It had felt strange to be addressed as a member of her crew at the homecoming event. In the weeks since she told him about the halo effect, they had kept dating, kept talking, kept touching. Most nights after dinner, she would disappear into her attic office. “I can’t read reports near you anymore,” she’d explained, blushing. When she finished her work, Kathryn would find Tom and ask if he wanted to spend time together.

He always said yes.

Tom had learned how his lips on her neck made her moan. 

He had learned the trembles of her legs, the thrusts of her hips, the taste of her skin. 

He had learned she was a scientist through and through, curious about every part of his body and researching with her eyes, her mouth, her hands. Tom had never appreciated science so much in his life.

But she wanted him to keep his things in his room even though he slept in her bed. 

Hurt, Tom had asked why. “That’s a big step,” Kathryn had said. “Really living together, not just sharing a house. We’ve only truly known each other for a few months.” Tom believed they had known each other for years, but he’d kissed her and told her he would do whatever made her comfortable.

***

The wedding was in Utah’s Arches National Park. The ceremony would be under the 14-meter Delicate Arch formation, which would catch the setting sun to appear to flame red, then orange, then crimson, then gold. 

While they waited for it all to start, Tom and Harry discussed the food.

“Chakotay’s a vegetarian,” Tom groaned. “It’s going to be lettuce and tofu.”

“Seven said there would be some of her culture, too,” Harry insisted. 

“What, nanoprobes?”

“No! Swedish meatballs, herring, that sort of thing. She said there would be a lot of strawberries at the dessert table.”

“Will there be banana pancakes?” Miral asked. 

“No, but there will be a birthday cake for you.” Tom patted Miral’s tummy. 

A dark-haired woman and _Voyager's_ EMH walked out from an area hidden by boulders. Harry whispered to Tom that the woman was Chakotay’s sister. She played a flute and the Doctor accompanied her with a vocal melody. They walked among the guests, then fell silent as they took their places under the giant arch. It had just begun to turn red. 

Kathryn emerged from the rocks. Like most of the guests, she wore the same Starfleet dress uniform she’d worn to the homecoming anniversary. Tom loved the white uniform on her, but the way her auburn hair gleamed in the sunset made him wish he had a holo-camera.

Chakotay came out next. He wore a white wedding robe tied with a wide leather belt. Then came Seven in similar attire, her hair loose in the breeze. The starfish-shaped Borg implant at the top of her jawline caught the sun and sparkled. 

“Family, friends, and those who grace this couple with steadfast service as both,” Kathryn began, “Chakotay and Annika Hansen will unite this evening with traditions that are tribal, Swedish, and Borg. And if that’s not enough for you,” she spoke over guests’ decidedly nervous murmurings, “there will be a party afterward that, I’m told, will knock you on your access node no matter what your unimatrix.”

As the ceremony progressed, Seven and Chakotay drank from each side of a two-spouted vase that symbolized their individuality and their togetherness. Kathryn explained the Greek letter Omega was carved into the vase to represent the perfection of the union. Chakotay’s sister and the Doctor came forward and wrapped a blanket around the couple to illustrate their new life together. Chakotay and then Seven each answered the wedding question of “Do you take this person as your lawfully wedded spouse?” with the traditional Swedish “_Ja_.”

By the time Seven and Chakotay kissed, the arch was gold and Tom was irritated. When he and B’Elanna decided to get married after saving hundreds of lives at the Antarian Trans-Stellar Rally, they had run to Captain Janeway’s ready room and requested a simple log entry to legally recognize their union. Kathryn had done as they asked, congratulated them, and told them to enjoy the Delta Flyer for a few days. 

Tom griped to Harry about the pageantry of Chakotay and Seven’s wedding. They were walking to the buffet, each holding one of Miral’s hands. 

“I liked it,” Harry said. “It was mostly Chakotay’s ideas, though. Seven’s just going along with it.”

“Why?”

Harry shrugged. “To Chakotay, this is romantic and a way of sharing their cultures with everyone. Seven said she ‘achieved matrimonial equity’ by getting what she wanted for the honeymoon.”

“Meaning?” Tom eyed the herring as he grabbed a plate for himself and one for Miral. 

“Meaning Chakotay will spend four days and five nights alongside his blushing bride as they run trans-spectral analyses on prototype models of Borg regeneration technology integrated into Federation ships’ hull and deck plating.”

“Sounds like a hot date to me,” Tom chortled. “How do you know all this, Harry?”

“I keep in touch with just about everybody.” Harry ladled some stewed turnips onto his plate. “_Voyager_ was my first posting.”

“Ah, you never forget your first.” Tom was joking, but, in that moment, he had a deeper understanding of why Kathryn fell in love on her first posting — and why it still worried her that she or her partner could confuse allegiance for affection. 

During dinner, a drum chorus began and members of Chakotay’s tribe led a dance involving large circles of people. Kathryn was at a table with the Doctor, plus some of Seven and Chakotay’s relatives. Tom wondered if she would join in. Harry had taken Miral and they were in a circle with the Delaney twins, the Wildman family, and people Tom didn’t know. It was past Miral’s bedtime, but Tom was waiting for the birthday cake before beaming home. So far, only Tuvok and T’Pel had made use of the small transporter platform, but Tom knew it would be mobbed at the end of the evening. 

When it was finally time for cake, Miral squirmed with excitement. Tom stood with her, Chakotay, and Seven in the buffet area as Seven led the guests in singing the Happy Birthday song in Federation Standard and in Klingon. Chakotay clapped Tom on the back and Miral blew out her candle. 

Everyone applauded. 

When Miral received her slice of cake, she held her plate with both hands. Instead of going to her own seat, though, Miral carefully weaved her way around the tables to set her plate in front of Kathryn, then climbed onto Kathryn’s lap to eat. Kathryn folded her arms across Miral’s waist, kissed the top of Miral’s head, and didn’t look at anyone.

***

“You came in late, it was a crazy day, and now you’re leaving early. I feel like I barely saw you, Harry,” Kathryn said. 

They were walking out of Tom’s office, which he’d wanted to show Harry. It was a semester break, so there were very few people at the academy. Still, the cadet at the controls stood at attention when three uniformed officers and a small Klingon girl strode into the transporter room.

“I’ll be back,” Harry promised Kathryn. “Next time I’ll stay longer.”

Harry gave the cadet transport instructions, naming a ship in orbit as his destination. The cadet blanched. 

“I’ve only transported to sites on Earth,” she explained. “I’m happy to give it a try, sir, but —”

“That’s all right,” Kathryn interrupted. Harry’s mouth had been moving but fear of his atoms being scattered meant no sound had come out. “You’re relieved, Cadet.”

The cadet gratefully stepped aside. Kathryn told Miral what each part of the transporter console did, speaking just loudly enough for the cadet to get a refresher lesson.

“Bring your girlfriend next time you come.” Tom one-arm hugged Harry goodbye. “I want to make sure she’s good enough for you.”

“Oh, she is.” Harry hugged Tom back. “I know you miss B’Elanna, but quit snuggling hamsters, okay? My girlfriend has a lot of friends on Earth. Let me know when you’re ready.”

“Sure,” Tom said. “Sure, Harry.”

Miral and Kathryn called out their goodbyes. Then Kathryn talked through each part of the transporter process as she did it, ending with, “and now, Miral, we push fingers up along these three lines and we watch Uncle Harry go.”

“Yay, Kat-Kat!” Miral clapped her hands. “Great job!”

As Harry dematerialized, his Starfleet travel bag in his hand, Tom saw his friend’s mouth fall open in surprise. 


	13. Chapter 13

The second after Harry beamed away, Tom seemed upset and said he needed to go back to his office to make a comm call and could Kathryn please take Miral since daycare was closed over the break. 

“Sure,” Kathryn replied. “Meet me at headquarters, okay?”

Tom nodded and was gone. 

“I will tell you about my birthday anniversary and my birthday wedding,” Miral said to Kathryn as they walked hand in hand from the academy to Starfleet Command.

“I was there for both those things, sweet girl,” Kathryn reminded her. 

“Yes,” Miral agreed. “But I missed you because you were so far away.”

Miral was right. Even though they were only meters apart at any given time, Kathryn had ached for Tom and Miral at both events. She had wanted to put her arm around Tom during the moment of silence for B’Elanna. She’d wanted to tell him her opinions about the wedding ceremony, to dance in a circle with both of them, and to kiss Tom and taste Miral’s birthday cake on his lips. The whole day reminded her of _Voyager_ — seven years of being part of things, yet apart from them, too. When Miral climbed on her lap, it was just what Kathryn had needed. 

When they got to her office, Kathryn handed Miral a padd and told her to record three different ways of telling about her circle dance with Uncle Harry. Miral then would analyze the recordings and decide which was the best or what information needed to be synthesized into a fourth version for her final report. Miral nodded, settled into a chair, and began to speak into the device. 

As Miral stopped and started her recordings, Kathryn replied to messages, signed off on official reports, and ordered a few captains to send shuttles on short-term scientific expeditions.

The door chimed. 

“Come in,” Kathryn called, expecting Tom.

“Grandpa!” Miral yelled, abandoning her padd. 

“I thought I heard your voice,” Owen stepped in and hugged Miral, “I had to make sure.” Owen turned to Kathryn. “I trust I’m not disturbing you.”

“Not at all, sir.” Kathryn knew from Tom about Owen and Tom’s argument. Since then, she and Owen had kept their conversations strictly on Starfleet business. 

Miral chattered to Owen — “There were so many strawberries on top of my birthday cake, Grandpa, and they tasted so good!” — and Kathryn returned to her work. She mostly tuned them out until Owen asked Miral her favorite part of her birthday. “When I was on the swing,” Miral replied firmly. “I felt like I was flying and I was thinking about my mommy in _Sto'Vo'Kor_ and I hoped she knew there was happiness in my heart.”

***

It had taken Tom time to explain things to a gobsmacked Harry and to extract promises Harry would keep his mouth shut. 

Then, his department chair stopped by to give Tom a good-natured ribbing about coming in over the break. The chair also offered congratulations — three of Tom’s students had their final projects optioned by holonovel publishers and one student created a Romulan tactical scenario so good Starfleet wanted to use it for training. Tom thanked him, then said Nova Squadron should have one or two new flight maneuvers ready for the next graduation ceremony.

“Sounds like your promotion to commander will come at the same time,” the department chair said. “Well-earned, Tom, well-earned.”

Eager to share his news, Tom rushed to Starfleet Command. But Miral and Kathryn weren’t in Kathryn’s office. They weren’t at the commissary and they weren’t in the main observation lounge. Tom was careful about comming Kathryn at headquarters — he never knew what type of work she might be involved in — but his fingers were moving to his badge when Owen’s voice came through, demanding to know where Tom was. Before Tom had a chance to say anything, Owen told him to report to Flight Simulator Twelve — and hurry.

Tom ran. 

When he got to the simulator, Miral was on her knees in the pilot’s seat, flying. She could barely reach the controls, but she maneuvered the faux shuttle through a recreation of the Sol system asteroid belt like she had done it a hundred times before.

“She’s got the touch!” Owen crowed. “Look at her, Tommy — and she’s a human year younger than you were when I first brought you here!”

Miral’s small fingers whisked across the console. The shuttle bobbed and weaved, avoiding asteroids over it, under it, to one side, then the other. Kathryn stood next to Miral, patting her shoulder and telling her what a great job she was doing. 

Tom went to Miral’s other side. “How —? How do you know how to do this?” 

Miral shrugged, her eyes flicking to the viewscreen as her hands stayed in motion. “Kat-Kat explained how the controls work. Grandpa told me how to sit so I could reach. It’s easy.”

“She’s got the touch!” Owen repeated. 

“It’s in her blood.” Kathryn murmured, her eyes on Miral and the console. 

“Tom, stay here. I’ll be right back.” Owen rushed out. 

Tom and Kathryn looked at each other over Miral’s head. They had discussed how Miral’s accomplishments always would be bittersweet without her mother able to see them. This one felt different, though, in a way Tom couldn’t explain. He wanted to try, but Kathryn was already praising Miral as the little girl piloted through a hole in one asteroid to avoid three others. 

Julia Paris materialized in the simulator.

It took an incredible amount of security clearance to order a site-to-site transport within Starfleet Command, but Tom knew why his father had arranged his mother’s appearance. 

Julia stared at Miral’s hands racing across the controls. Her fingertips went to her lips and she swallowed hard. 

Owen returned and, to Tom and Kathryn’s surprise, slipped his arm around his wife’s waist. 

“I told you,” Owen whispered. “She’s got the touch.” 

“She surely does.” Julia’s voice shook. She blinked rapidly. “None of the others, not Kathleen’s children or Moira’s, none of them —” 

“I know,” Owen said. 

Kathryn looked at Tom questioningly. 

“Flying doesn’t come from the Paris side,” he explained. “It comes from the Murphys. My mom was Julia Murphy when she tutored my dad in Mechanics of Flight at the academy.”

“Kept me from failing,” Owen added.

“I’ll say.” Julia’s eyes stayed on Miral at the simulator controls. “He crashed on the basic level. High schoolers can do better than that.”

Together, Owen and Julia told how a professor asked Julia, a senior, to help Owen, a freshman, through the simulations. They worked together every day for a month. It was Julia’s idea to challenge Owen to a three-day trip to practice takeoffs, landings, and space flight. They came back engaged. 

“You never told me you two went away in a shuttle for three days!” Tom looked from one parent to the other as if he’d never met them before. “You just said you practiced!”

“You don’t get that part of the story until you have a child of your own,” Julia sniffed. Tom saw the mischief in her eyes, though. “What prompted bringing Miral here today?”

“It wasn’t my idea,” Owen said. “Miral was talking about B’Elanna and she mentioned something about happiness and feeling like she was flying on a playground swing. Kathryn suggested we try her on the simulator.”

The three adult members of the Paris family turned to Kathryn. Tom realized she had been unusually quiet.

“We talk about B’Elanna all the time.” Kathryn’s hand was still on Miral’s small shoulder. “But I spent seven years watching Tom fly, so, when Miral mentioned it, I wanted to see what she could do. She turned perfect figure-eights on her hover trike an hour after she learned to steer, but I didn’t make the connection until today.”

“You … you talk about B’Elanna?” Julia asked. 

“Of course, Mom,” Tom cut in. “What did you think?”

Julia changed the subject to the simulator and Miral’s progress and when Miral should attempt the intermediate level. 

“Now!” Miral insisted. “I want to try it now!”

Owen and Kathryn drifted toward the door, murmuring their need to get back to work. 

“Sir,” Kathryn said as they walked toward their offices, “may I ask you a personal question?” Owen granted permission. “When you and Mrs. Paris got engaged, did you worry that because she was an upperclassman, technically outranking you, that you might cling to an idealized view of her or that she might hold an unrealistic view of you?”

“Kathryn,” Owen replied, “falling in love always means having an idealized or unrealistic view of someone. Staying in love is acknowledging that part of the relationship while getting to know each other on a deeper level.”

That night, Miral moved from her toddler bed into the bed Tom had replicated for Harry — and Tom moved into Kathryn’s room.


	14. Chapter 14

“If I fall down these stairs, you are _carrying_ me to Starfleet Medical,” Kathryn declared. “No transporters.”

“Just a little bit more.” Tom guided her. “Three more steps.”

Kathryn could see the stairs through the bottom of her blindfold, but it was more fun to tease Tom. His new semester had started, so Miral was in daycare again. Tom had morning and afternoon classes, so he’d asked Kathryn to come home during her lunchtime to see what he had been working on in the basement. 

“Ready?” he asked. 

“As I’ll ever be.”

Tom tugged and the blindfold fluttered to the floor. 

The first thing Kathryn saw was the pool table — mahogany finish, green felt, netted drop pockets. There was a rack of cues on the wall, but three cues lay parallel to each other on the table, two standard-sized and, between them, one small enough for a child. 

“Oh, Tom, this is beautiful.” She ran her fingers along the side of the table. The rich, dark wood had knots and nicks, which meant it was real, not replicated. 

“There’s more!” 

Tom showed her a game area for Miral where they all could play Kadis Kot, Durotta, Tongo, Kal-toh, or 3D chess. 

He showed her something that looked like a huge storage container with a side missing. It was a mini-holodeck. Tom said he was inspired by the television B’Elanna had given him, but he’d designed this device to be fully 24th century in its capabilities. With it, Tom could preview his students’ work, Kathryn could more easily visualize spatial phenomena, and Miral could play _The Adventures of Flotter_. 

“This — this is incredible.” Kathryn couldn’t stop admiring Tom’s handiwork. He had taken everyone’s interests and made them span what she suddenly realized had become a family. 

“Keep looking,” he said. “There’s still one more area.”

“Why is the floor different over there?” She pointed.

“This,” Tom led Kathryn to the parquet, “is a polyfoam-supported, motion-absorbent dance floor.” 

Kathryn didn’t want to hurt Tom’s feelings, but part of the fun of going out dancing was the energy from other people and the pulsing beat of really loud music. 

“I know what you’re thinking,” Tom said. 

“You do?” She looked up at him.

“You’re thinking, ‘What kind of dancing is enjoyable on this basement dance floor?’” Before she could answer, Tom tapped at a music computer terminal. Kathryn heard a slow song she didn’t recognize. Tom pulled her close. “This kind of dancing.”

Oh, this was excellent basement dancing. Tom’s arms were around her and his hands rested just below her admiral’s belt. Kathryn melted into him. When the song finished, he kissed her.

”The dance floor is perfect,” she breathed.

“Oh, but there’s another feature.” Tom slow danced Kathryn over to the computer again even though there was no music. He tapped and force fields glimmered around the dance floor. “Soundproofing! Miral can sing her Klingon opera here as loudly as she likes.”

Out of emptiness, Tom had crafted togetherness. Everyone in the family had an equal place with everyone else. The words Kathryn had known but hadn’t spoken tumbled out. 

“I love you, Tom.”

“And I love you, Kathryn, I love you so much.”

***

Kathryn and Tom went on about a date a week — dinner, dancing, a museum, a concert. They tried one cooking class, but that was a disaster, and their attempt to play Velocity ended in an argument about Federation rules versus Starfleet rules that left them both surly.

As their lovemaking matured, Tom became fluent in the subtle, wordless language Kathryn spoke with her body. Fingertips pushing or pulling against his hips to ask him to speed up or slow down. Caresses guiding his hands or his head to where she wanted them. Tilts of her pelvis to let him know how much friction to give her. Tom found it intoxicating and he told her so. 

“Why?” she mumbled, half asleep in his arms. 

“Because you’re telling me how I can make you feel good,” Tom whispered in her ear. 

She smiled dreamily. “I like what you do, too.” 

“Why?”

She was too tired to explain, how, with the noise complaints about him and B’Elanna on _Voyager_, Kathryn had assumed Tom would be loud and rough. She could have handled that, but she preferred the way he actually was — his usual flattery became dirty talk and his creativity meant new angles, positions, fantasies. He was a biter. Sometimes his touch was feather-light, skimming across her body inducing gasps and goosebumps. Other times he brought pleasure-pain that had her muffling her screams in a pillow for fear of waking Miral.

All right, so maybe the noise complaints had some legitimacy.

Kathryn wanted to answer Tom’s question by telling him everything she loved about how he felt, how he tasted, how he moved. She wanted him to know the sounds he made sped up her heartbeat and, if she was at work when she thought about the way his body met hers, she had to cross her legs. She wanted him to understand the way her blood rushed when he looked at her with his eyes dark or when he reached for her in the night. She didn’t have the energy to get into all that, though, so she just murmured, “With you, Tom, I have a home that’s a person.”

He kissed her. “I love it,” he said, and held her as she fell asleep with his face buried in her hair.

Kathryn always slept soundly with Tom.

When they walked side by side on Starfleet property, they would accidentally-on-purpose brush against each other. To Kathryn, it was a daredevil move. To Tom, it was a game. He would announce their score at the end of every walk: “Four touches! We gotta move fast to catch up with yesterday’s eleven.”

Gretchen had them to the farmhouse every few weeks, always slipping Miral extra cookies. Phoebe painted a large, post-Impressionist portrait of Miral and, at Kathryn’s request, Tom hung it on the wall in their bedroom. When they saw Kathleen or Moira’s families, Miral would be so excited to play with her cousins. As for Julia and Owen, after what happened in the simulator, they seemed to accept and even appreciate their son’s choice to be with Kathryn. They had Tom, Kathryn, and Miral over for dinner often. 

“Kat,” Miral said once, having outgrown her doubled nickname for Kathryn, “why do you call Grandpa ‘sir’?”

“It’s respect.” Kathryn primly placed her fork next to her plate. “Your grandpa has been my superior officer for more than twenty years.”

From the head of the table came the familiar gravelly voice, “How about, when we aren’t at headquarters, calling me Owen?”

“Yes, sir,” Kathryn replied automatically, When she heard what she’d said, she laughed with everyone else. 

Not long afterward, Miral had a park play date with Mark and Carla’s kids. 

Kathryn and Mark were talking on a bench. As always, their conversation was fast-paced and partially indecipherable to anyone but them. Tom and Carla were minding the children. It was sunny with a slight wind.

“Does it bother you Miral will grow up so quickly?” Carla said.

Tom looked to his daughter digging in the sandbox. Miral was already larger and more mentally advanced than the Johnson children — both of whom were older than she was. They could still play together, but probably not for much longer. 

“Why do you ask?”

Carla’s face lit up the way it did only for Mark, her job, or her kids. “At work, we’ve been looking into the philosophical concept of personal identity, whether it’s change in identity or identity at a specific temporal point. We’re examining how identifying features and traits actually change over time and how that affects suppositions about the nature of the universe. With changes that aren’t in sync with the rest of the family, how could aging impact Miral’s identity?”

Tom understood a fraction of what Carla had said. “If you mean does it bother me that by the time Miral is eight she’ll basically be a human sixteen-year-old, I guess I hadn’t thought about it. It’s just who she is.”

But Tom was thinking about it now.

“Kathryn,” he said that night, “do you want to have children?”

“We already had children,” she joked as she brushed her teeth. “Warp ten.” She winked.

“Human children.” Tom’s voice was strained.

Kathryn lowered her toothbrush and spat into the sink. “I did for a long time. I haven’t thought about it lately. Why?”

“Because B’Elanna was an only child and she was lonely. We both have siblings and it’s nice.”

Kathryn watched the water flow over her toothbrush as she rinsed it. “Only children aren’t automatically lonely.”

“I know,” Tom agreed, “but I never wanted to have just one child. I was wondering how you felt about it.” 

Kathryn had been on contraception hyposprays since she was fifteen years old. In the Delta Quadrant, when resources were low, there were months she spent every replicator ration she had on hormones to load into the hypospray. She could have just gone to the Doctor, but her need for privacy outweighed her need for food. As difficult as it had been to choke down more of Neelix’s cooking, it had been worth it to keep her reproductive system in suspended animation — no periods, no hassle. Sure, the contraception failed after she and Tom took their warp ten flight, but her entire genome had been rewritten, so Kathryn didn’t fault the hyposprays for that. 

She thought about having children with Tom, expecting to weigh a list of pros and cons in her head. Instead, Kathryn felt a strange pull in her stomach and her face broke into a goofy grin that showed her freshly brushed teeth. 

“I feel,” she said to Tom, “like we’ll have to talk about when I’ll discontinue my hyposprays.” 

He got the same goofy grin and tried to kiss her but they couldn’t stop smiling.

***

At the end of Tom’s second semester, his promotion was scheduled between the graduation ceremony and the Nova Squadron flight team demonstration. Kathryn watched cadet after cadet receive their first pip and even recognized some of their names from Tom’s stories about work. 

“Kat,” Miral whispered from her neighboring seat, “I’m bored.”

Owen was on Miral’s other side and Julia was next to him. “Young lady,” Owen reprimanded, “if you work hard, you can be a Starfleet cadet someday. What do you think about that?”

Miral shrugged. 

When Tom’s department chair pinned the third full pip to Tom’s collar, such cheering broke out in the student section that even Owen had to grin. As Kathryn applauded, she was proud of Tom as his partner, the person who saw him work hard on his lessons and guide his students toward success. Sure, she remembered reinstating his commission, demoting him, then promoting him again. But that felt as far away in time as it was in distance. 

The Nova Squadron shuttles began their performance. 

A huge holo-imager showed those assembled at graduation what the flight team was doing in space. An announcer named and described each maneuver as the team performed it, and everyone was nearly breathless with excitement for the two new ones. They had been kept top secret. Only Tom, the members of the team, and their coach knew the details. 

The announcer spoke through the first new maneuver: in Mirage, the team’s five shuttles briefly appeared to be ten shuttles thanks to a variation on the famed "Picard Maneuver" warp jump that caused a starship to appear to be in two places at once. The shuttles performed the trick multiple times in different configurations. 

The crowd applauded. 

For the second new maneuver, Cat’s Eye, the shuttles spun around each other in a complex flight pattern. They then retreated to a safe distance and the lead shuttle fired an ion charge into the shuttles’ plasma trails, igniting them into a series of bright blue concentric circles the shuttles then flew around in a dizzying display.

There was a standing ovation. 

Kathryn could see Tom sitting in the faculty section. He sagged with relief that it all went well. 

Miral leaned over Owen to address Julia. “Grandma, will you help me so I can do _that_ at the academy?”

Julia reached over to squeeze her granddaughter’s hand. “Definitely.” 

Tom would be at graduation receptions the rest of the day. When she got home with Miral, Kathryn confirmed their reservation for the next morning when, in their official celebration of his promotion, Tom would get to pilot a replica of the Wright Flyer, the pioneering airplane designed by Orville and Wilbur Wright. She hoped he would like the surprise.

But Tom was better than Kathryn at surprises.


	15. Chapter 15

When Tom got home the night of graduation, he could hear Kathryn and Miral’s voices in Miral’s room. It sounded like Miral was reading a bedtime story out loud and Kathryn was asking Miral questions about it. 

For a few minutes, Tom watched them from the doorway. Miral was on Kathryn’s lap in the soft armchair Kathryn had replicated once Miral started to read. Kathryn was absentmindedly running her fingers through Miral’s hair, combing out the knots that formed so easily. Miral was reading slowly and carefully, but oh-so proudly.

Their heads swiveled to the door as they noticed him. Miral did as Kathryn had suggested and said, “Congratulations Commander Daddy!”

Tom thanked her and asked if she had noticed something about the Mirage flight maneuver. 

Miral shook her head. 

“It’s for you,” Tom explained. “Each shuttle looks like two shuttles because you’re never just one thing — you’re human and Klingon, big and little, smart and silly. It’s named Mirage for your name, Miral.”

Miral pumped her little arms. 

“I love it, Daddy, thank you. I’ll learn to do it one day. And the Cat’s Eye for Kat.”

“Oh, no, sweetheart,” Kathryn said. “That’s C-A-T, not K-A-T.”

“Actually,” Tom pulled a holo-image of the maneuver from his pocket. “I didn’t want to embarrass you, but it is for you.”

Kathryn looked from Tom to the holo-image of the bright blue circles-inside-circles and then back to Tom. She didn’t understand. Tom handed her the holo-image and stood in front of her while she studied it. Miral traced the curves with her finger as Tom explained. 

“The smallest circle is how we started — teenage me stupidly avoiding you because I didn’t know what to say. The next biggest circle is meeting again at Auckland when you busted me out of prison for a quick mission on your ship. The next circle is for the captain I knew would bring her crew home. The next circle is for my friend who helped after the worst thing that ever happened to me. The circle after that is for the woman I love.”

There was something blocking Kathryn’s windpipe. So her voice was extra husky when she said, “Tom, there’s another circle.” 

She looked up from the holo-image and Tom was down on one knee. 

***

They had a one-week engagement. 

Even so, with Miral, Owen and Julia, Gretchen, their combined three sisters with a total of three spouses and seven kids, the Johnsons, Tuvok and T’Pel, plus Harry on a comm line from the Beta Quadrant, the wedding was a bit more than they had intended. Admiral Patterson officiated in Gretchen’s backyard. 

After planning to wear her dress uniform for her two weddings that never happened, this time Kathryn chose a light sweater and the dress she’d worn the first time she and Tom went dancing. At Miral’s insistence, Kathryn carried a small bouquet — red roses. Tom wore a button-down shirt and slacks. Miral stood between them in a green dress she’d chosen from the replicator files. 

Admiral Patterson said a few words and they affirmed their wish to marry. There was a kiss, a lunch, and children trying to turn cartwheels in the grass. 

“Mr. Kim.” Kathryn leaned toward the computer terminal where Harry was eating a replicated meal to feel more a part of things. 

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, swallowing a too-big bite of his turkey sandwich. 

She held up her left hand, her wedding band sparkling in the Indiana sun. “Your orders to maintain confidentiality are hereby rescinded. Tell whomever you like.”

“Understood.” His face split into a smile. “Kim out.”

By the time Tom and Kathryn got home from their two-day honeymoon, they had received congratulatory messages from every member of the _Voyager_ crew. 

***

Six months later, on her fourth try, Kathryn finally passed her psych test to go offworld. 

Tom had anticipated this time would be the one, so he’d arranged to borrow one of the shuttles the academy had started using for astronomy and stellar cartography classes. Kathryn met him after her last meeting of the day and Tom piloted them out of the shipyard. 

Instead of sitting in the chair next to his up front, he asked Kathryn to lie on her back in the open area at the rear of the shuttle.

The bumps in the atmosphere and the vibrations of the shuttle engine flowed through her. The most recent psych test had involved a trip to the moon, so this was technically her second time leaving the planet that day. But now Kathryn could relax. Her eyes drifted closed, not in fatigue, but in satisfaction. 

“Kathryn,” Tom’s voice came through a haze. “Look at the roof of the shuttle, okay?”

She opened her eyes. “Okay.” 

Tom tapped at his console. She gasped. The entire rear section of the shuttle had become transparent. Her stars. Gamma Orionis. Sirius. Canopus. Vega. They were all around her, solid, not twinkling. 

Tears dripped into her ears but she didn’t move. 

Tom told her not to feel self-conscious — she could see out but no one could see in. 

He looped the Sol system, took a quick warp trip to Alpha Centauri, and was taking another turn around their home system when Kathryn called out to him.

“Tom, does this shuttle have autopilot?”

“It does.”

He lay next to her, space all around them. She held his hand. 

“They’re warm,” Kathryn whispered.

“What’s warm?” 

“The stars. They’re warm.”

Tom knew the temperature of a star ranged from 2,500 Kelvin to 50,000 Kelvin. But he also knew that wasn’t what Kathryn meant. He squeezed her hand and waited.

“Whenever I would feel sad or lonely, I had the stars,” she explained. “In a vast coldness, stars are energy, they’re warmth. I’ve always loved them, ever since I was a little girl, and this is the closest I’ve ever felt to being among them.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m with you.”

She reached for the zipper on his uniform. 

Three weeks later, her pregnancy scan would be positive. Two years after that, they would have another baby. In the basement, when they would slow dance, the children would drift over until all five of them were dancing with the littlest snuggled by her brother, Miral hugging both her siblings, Kathryn embracing the three of them, and Tom’s arms around his entire family. From above, they looked like the flight maneuver Tom had designed. They looked like a Cat’s Eye.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Dawn Will Find Us Again](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24824941) by [CaptAcorn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptAcorn/pseuds/CaptAcorn)


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